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UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME 

Each $1.50 net, cloth ; $2.50 net, leather. Add 
8^ to the price of each volume for postage. 

THE POETIC NEW-WORLD 
Compiled by Miss L. H. Humphrey. A collec- 
tion of poems describing the scenery and historic 
associations of America. 

THE POETIC OLD-WORLD 
Compiled by Miss L. H. Humphrey. Covers 
Europe, including Spain, Belgium and the British 
Isles. 

THE GARLAND OF CHILDHOOD 
A little book for all lovers of children. Com- 
piled by Percy Withers. 

THE OPEN ROAD 
A little book for wayfarers. Compiled by E. V. 
Lucas. 

THE FRIENDLY TOWN 
A little book for the urbane. Compiled by E. V. 
Lucas. 

LETTERS THAT LIVE 
Selected and edited by Laura E. Lockwood and 
Amy R. Kelly. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 



LETTERS THAT LIVE 



SELECTED AND EDITED BY 

LAURA E. LOCKWOOD 

AND 

AMY R. KELLY 




NEW YORK 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
1911 






Copy RIGHT, 1911 
By 
HENRY HOLT AND COMPAxNIY 



/ V. 



©CI.A280196 



PREFACE 

Letters are probably the most intimate and sociable 
documents which we possess, more intimate even than 
diaries or autobiographies; the latter can hardly be written 
without a dim feeling, albeit unexpressed, that they may 
sometime interest a vague, possibly a large audience; 
the former, if genuine in intention, expect no permanence, 
and are often preserved only by mere chance. Their 
ephemeral character and the narrow and precise limita- 
tion of the audience which they propose to interest, 
cause them to be more nearly like familiar conversation 
than any other form of writing. No other form so 
definitely makes the audience a party to the intercourse. 
A selection of letters which should present the develop- 
ment and continuity of the letter as a literary type, or 
one which should suggest the points at which it departs 
from other types, such as the news-journal, the essay, or 
the travel-letter, might be made; but the literary interest 
is secondary to that of familiar contact with vivid person- 
alities, otherwise beyond our ken; removed from us in 
time, circumstance, or habitation. 

The letters in this book have, therefore, been selected 

primarily for the sake of their human interest, though the 

intrinsic value of substance and special distinction of 

style have, of course, often been determining factors 

iii 



iv PREFACE 

in the final choice. Since selections have been made 
with this point in view, doubtless some readers will miss 
letters that have long been favorites, and wonder why 
they are not included. The omissions are due partly to 
the small size of the book and the very large number of 
really good letters available in the mass of correspondence 
now in print, and partly to the fact that some publishers 
have been unwilling to grant permission to reprint letters 
for which they hold the copyright. 

The difficulty of a logical grouping has been great, and 
we have not wholly overcome it. The most common 
arrangement is either that of a grouping according to 
subject-matter, or that of placing the individual letters 
in strictly chronological order: the first is well-nigh im- 
possible because of the essential character of the letter 
itself, which passes easily from subject to subject, and 
may include many different themes; the second scatters 
the letters of any one writer and makes a book organized 
on such a plan practically hard to use. We have, there- 
fore, by way of compromise, brought together the work 
of each author, and, taking as a basis the date of the first 
letter in each group, have arranged the groups in chrono- 
logical order. 

The spelling has been modernized, since the puzzling 
out of the old and inconsistent orthography must often 
be done at the expense of failing to grasp the thought of 
the writer. But the punctuation has been retained, 
because, while it does not interfere with the ease of read- 
ing, it sometimes reveals a meaning which might be quite 
changed by substituting the modern usage in regard to 
commas and semicolons. 



PREFACE V 

We are very grateful to all those publishers whose 
generosity has made possible the inclusion of many 
modern letters; special acknowledgment of this debt 
has been made at the pages where such letters occur. 

Wellesley, January i6, 191 1. 



CONTENTS 



WALTER PASTON 

To Margaret Paston . 
LADY BRYAN 

To Lord Cromwell 
PRINCE EDWARD 

To HIS Sister Elizabeth 
ROGER ASCHAM 

To John Sturmuis . 
JOHN HOOPER 

To Heinrich Bullinger. 
SIR HENRY SIDNEY 

To HIS Son Philip Sidney 
JOHN DONNE 

To the Worthiest Lady, Mrs. Bridget White 
JAMES HOWELL 

To Sir J. S at Leeds Castle 

BRILLIANA HARLEY 

To Edward Harley 
DOROTHY OSBORNE 

To Sir William Temple 
MR. PENRUDDOCK 

Last Letter to his Wife 
SIR THOMAS BROWNE 

To his Son, Dr. Edward Browne 
JOSEPH ADDISON 

To (Mr. Wortley Montagu; 

To the Earl of Warwick 

vii 



viii CONTENTS 

RICHARD STEELE 

To Mrs. Scurlock 27 

To Mrs. Steeli 28 

To Mrs. Steele 28 

To Sally Steele ........ 29 

To Lady Steele 29 

DEAN SWIFT 

To Stella 30 

To Stella - . 32 

ALEXANDER POPE 

To Miss Martha Blount ...... 32 

LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 

To the Countess of Mar ...... 35 

MRS. PENDARVES (MRS. DELANY) 

To Mrs. Ann Granville ...... 42 

To Mrs. Ann Granville, at Gloucester . . -43 

To Mrs. Dewes 45 

To Mrs. Dewes ........ 46 

To Mrs. Dewes 46 

THOMAS GRAY 

To Richard West ........ 48 

To THE Rev. William Mason ..... 50 

DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON 

To Lord Chesterfield ....... 51 

To Mr. Boswell ........ 53 

JAMES BOSWELL 

To Samuel Johnson ... .0.. 54 

MR. CRISP 

To Miss Burney .. c ..... 55 

MISS BURNEY 

To Mr. Crisp 57 

GENERAL WASHINGTON 

To Colonel Lewis Nicola ...... 60 



CONTENTS ix 

WILLIAM COWPER 

To THE Rev. John Newton 6i 

To William Hayley 64 

ROBERT BURNS 

To Mrs. Dunlop 65 

To Mr. Cunningham 67 

DOROTHY WORDSWORTH 

To Jane Pollard 69 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

To Lady Beaumont . 69 

To Daniel Stuart 71 

JANE AUSTEN 

To HER Sister 7^ 

To J. S. Clarke 75 

JOHN ADAMS 

To his Wife 76 

To his Wife 77 

LORD JEFFREY 

To Mr. Robert Morehead 78 

To Mr. John Jeffrey ....... 81 

To Francis Horner, Esq^ 83 

CHARLES LAMB 

To William Wordsworth 85 

To Bernard Barton ....... 87 

To William Wordsworth 89 

WALTER SCOTT 

To Francis Douce, F.S.A 91 

ROBERT SOUTHEY 

To John Rickman, Esq^ 9* 

GEORGE CRABBE 

To Mary Leadbeater . . o o o • . 94 

JOHN KEATS 

To J. H. Reynolds 96 



CONTENTS 



SYDNEY SMITH 

To Lady Georgiana Morpeth 

To Miss Georgiana Harcourt 

To Miss .... 

To Thomas Moore 

To Charles Dickens 

To Miss Georgiana Harcourt 
THOMAS MACAULAY 

To his Father 

To Fanny and Selina Macaulay 

To Mr. Thomas Flower Ellis 
GEORGE TICKNOR 

To C. S. Davies, Portland . 

To Hon. Edward Everett 
CHARLES DARWIN 

To W. D. Fox . . . 

To J. D. Hooker . 

To W. D. Fox . . . 

To W. D. Fox . . » 
DR. ARNOLD 

To his Nephew, J. Ward, Esq^ 

To his Aunt, Mrs. Frances Delafield 
JANE WELSH CARLYLE 

To Miss Hunter .... 

To T. Carlyle, Esq^., Scotsbrig 

To John Welsh, Esq_., the Baths, Helensbu 

To J. G. Cooke, Es(^ . 
CHARLES DICKENS 

To Mrs. Dickens . 

To Master Hastings Hughes 

To George Cattermole . 

To Miss Dickens . 

To Mr. Henry Austin . 

To Mr. Mark Lemon 



CONTENTS xi 

CHARLES DICKENS 

To Miss Mary Boyle . . . . c . . 138 

S. G. HOWE 

To Horace Mann . . . o , <, . . 139 

To Charles Sumner . , o o » » . 141 
To Horace Mann ..0000 = . 143 

HORACE MANN 

To S. G. Howe . . . « o . c . 145 

EDWARD FITZGERALD 

To Bernard Barton . . , . o . . 147 

To Bernard Barton .... o * . 148 

To F. Tennyson 150 

To George Crabbe 153 

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 

To Miss Rose Paynter ....... 154 

NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

To Miss Peabody ........ 155 

MRS. HAWTHORNE 

To her Mother ........ 158 

ELIZABETH BARRETT (MRS. BROWNING) 

To H. S. Boyd 159 

To H. S. Boyd 161 

To Mrs. Martin ........ 162 

GEORGE ELIOT 

To Miss Lewis ........ 165 

To Miss Sara Hennell . ...... 166 

To Miss Sara Hennell ....... 167 

To Miss Mary Sibree ....... 168 

To Miss Sara Hennell ....... 169 

CHARLES KINGSLEY 

To Mr. Wood ........ 170 

THOMAS HOOD 

To May 172 

To May 173 



xii CONTENTS 

THOMAS HUXLEY 

To HIS Sister 175 

To Miss Heathorn 178 

To his Mother 181 

To Professor Romanes ....... 183 

To his Youngest Daughter . . .184 

To Sir Joseph Hooker ..,..,. 1S5 

To his Younger Son ....... 186 

To his Wife ....... .186 

To A Young American 187 

EMILY DICKINSON 

To her Brother ........ 188 

To HER Brother ........ 190 

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

To Mr. and Mrs. Brookfiild 193 

To Mrs. Brookfield .-,..... 197 

CHARLOTTE BRONTE 

To Ellen Nussey ....,, . . 199 

GEORGE BANCROFT 

To M. H. Grinnell ...... 200 

MATTHEW ARNOLD 

To Mrs. Forster . . 201 

To Miss Arnold .... . 202 

To Mrs. Forster ..... . . 203 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 

To Grace Greenwood ... . 207 

To Lucy Larcom . . , , . 208 

To Celia Thaxter ....... 209 

ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

To Mrs. Bixby 21c 

LOUISA ALCOTT 

To her Sister . ...... all 

T. R. GREEN 

To E. A. Friemam . . . . 214 



CONTENTS xiii 

J. R. GREEN 

To Miss Louise von Glkbn 115 

To Miss von Glebn ....... 217 

To Miss Louise von Glebn . . . . . .219 

JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 

To the Rev. John Hayes 223 

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 

To Dante Rossetti ....... 224 

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

To Dr. Fordyce Barker 225 

To James Russell Lowell 226 

To James T. Fields 228 

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

To Mrs. Thomas Stevenson 230 

To W. E. Henley 232 

To Mr. H. C. Ide 234 

JOHN RUSKIN 

To Miss Susan Beever 236 

To Miss Susan Beever 239 

To Dr. Chapman 240 

To Miss Susan Beever .241 

To Miss Susan Beever . 242 

SIDNEY LANIER 

To Mrs. Peacock 242 

To Mr. Gibson Peacock 245 

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 

To William Dean Howells 246 

To G. E. Woodberry 247 

To G. E. Woodberry 248 

LEWIS CARROLL 

To Adelaide 249 

To IsA Bowman <> 250 



WALTER PASTON TO MARGARET 
PASTON 

19 May\ 1478. 

To his worshipful mothery Margaret Paston^ dwell- 
ing in Mawthy, he this letter delivered in haste. 
Right Reverent and Worshipful Mother, 

I recommend me on to your good mothership, be- 
seeching you to give me your daily benediction, desiring 
heartily to hear of your prosperity, which God preserve 
to his pleasure, and to your heart's desire, etc. I mar- 
vel sore that you sent me no word of the letter which 
I sent to you by Master William Brown at Easter. I 
sent you word that time that I should send you my ex- 
penses particularly; but as at this time the bearer hereof 
had a letter suddenly that he should come home, and 
therefore I could have no leisure to send them you on 
that wise; and therefore I shall write to you in this 
letter the whole sum of my expenses since I was with 
you till Easter last past, and also the receipts, reckon- 
ing the XXs. that I had of you at Oxford with the Bish- 
op's finding^ 

The whole sum of receipts is V;^. XVIIs. VId., and 

the whole sum of the expenses is N\£. Vs. Vd., ob. qua., 

and that cometh over the receipts in my expenses I 

' Probably a sum of money the Bishop paid for the support of a 

scholar at Oxford. See Murray's New English Dictionary. 

I 



2 WALTER PASTON 

have borrowed of Master Edmund, and it draweth to 
VIIIs. And yet I reckon no expenses since Easter. 
But as for them, they be not great; and therefore I be- 
seech you to send me money by Sir Richard Cotman, 
bringer of this letter, or else by the next messenger that 
you can have to me. 

I beseech you that he that I sent by this letter to you 
may have good cheer, if he bring it himself, as he telleth 
me that he will, for he is a good lover of mine. Master 
Edmund Alyard recommends him especially to you, 
and to all my brethren and sisters, and to all your house- 
hold; and I beseech you that I may be recommended 
to all them also, and especially to my brother John the 
younger. No more to you at this time, but Almighty 
Jesus have you in his keeping. Amen. 

Written at Oxford, on Saint Dunstan's Day and the 
XIX day of May, 

By your son and scholar, 

Walter Paston. 



LADY BRYAN TO LORD CROMWELL 

HUNSDON, 1536. 

My Lord, when your lordship was last here, it pleased 
you to say that I should not mistrust the king's grace 
nor your lordship, which word was more comfort to me 
than I can write, as God knoweth. And now it em- 
boldens me to show you my poor mind. My lord, when 
my Lady Mary's grace was born, it pleased the king's 
grace to appoint me lady-mistress and made me a baron- 



LADY BRYAN 3 

ess. And so I have been governess to the children his 
Grace have had since. 

Now it is so, my Lady Elizabeth^ is put from that de- 
gree she was afore, and what degree she is of now, I 
know not but by hearsay. Therefore I know not how 
to order her, nor myself, nor none of hers that I have 
the rule of — that is her women and grooms, beseeching 
you to be good lord to my lady, and to all hers: And 
that she may have some raiment; for she hath neither 
gown, nor kirtle^, nor petticoat, nor no manner of linen 
nor smocks, nor kerchiefs, nor rails^, nor body stitchets*, 
nor handkerchiefs, nor sleeves, nor mufflers, nor big- 
gens^ All these her Grace must take I have driven off 
as long as I can, that by my troth I can drive it off no 
longer: beseeching you, my lord, that ye will see that 
her Grace may have that which is needful for her, as 
my trust is that ye will do. Beseeching ye, mine own 
good lord, that I may know from you, by writing, how I 
shall order myself; and what is the King's grace's pleas- 
ure and yours; that I shall do in everything ? And 
whatsomever it shall please the King's grace or your 
lordship to command me at all times, I shall fulfil it 
to the best of my power. 

My lord, Mr. Shelton® saith he is master of this house. 

* Elizabeth was three years old when this letter was written. Her 
dates are 1533-1603. 

2 Slip. 

^ Night-dresses. 

* Corsets. 

^ Night caps. 

* A kinsman of Anne Boleyn. 



4 LADY BRYAN 

What fashion that may be I cannot tell, for I have not 
seen it afore. My lord, ye be so honourable yourself, 
and every man reporteth that your lordship loveth honour, 
that I trust you will see the house honourably ordered, 
as it ever hath been aforetime. And if it please you that 
I may know what your order is, and if it be not performed 
I shall certify your lordship of it. For I fear me it will 
be hardly enough performed. But if the head^ knew 
what honour meaneth, it will be the better ordered — 
if not, it will be hard to bring to pass. 

My lord, Mr. Shelton would have my Lady Elizabeth 
to dine and sup every day at the board of estate. Alas! 
my lord, it is not meet for a child of her age to keep such 
rule yet. I promise you, my lord, I dare not take it 
upon me to keep her Grace in health an' she keep that 
rule. For there she shall see divers meats, and fruits, 
and wine, which it would be hard for me to restrain her 
Grace from. Ye know, my lord, there is no place of 
correction there; and she is yet too young to correct 
greatly. I know well an' she be there, I shall neither 
bring her up to the King's grace's honour, nor hers, nor 
to her health, nor to my poor honesty. Wherefore, I 
show your lordship this my desire, beseeching you, my 
lord, that my lady may have a mess of meat at her own 
lodging, with a good dish or two that is meet for her 
Grace to eat of; and the reversion of the mess shall sat- 
isfy all her women, a gentleman usher, and a groom; 
which be eleven persons on her side. Sure I am it will 
be as great profit to the King's grace this way as the other 
way. For if all this should be set abroad, they must have 

* Evidently Shelton is meant. 



LADY BRYAN 5 

three or four messes of meat, — whereas this one mess 
shall suffice them all with bread and drink, according 
as my Lady Mary's grace had afore, and to be ordered 
in all things as her Grace was afore. 

God knoweth my lady (Elizabeth) hath great pain 
with her great teeth, and they come very slowly forth, 
which causeth me to suffer her Grace to have her will 
more than I would. I trust to God an' her teeth were 
well graft, to have her Grace after another fashion than 
she is yet: so as I trust the King's grace shall have a 
great comfort in her Grace, For she is as toward a 
child and as gentle of conditions, as ever I knew any in 
my life. Jesu preserve her Grace! 

As for a day or two, at a high time\ or whensoever 
it shall please the King's grace to have her set abroad^, 
I trust so to endeavour me, that she shall so do as shall 
be to the King's honour and hers; and then after to 

take her ease again From Hunsdon, with the 

evil hand^ of her who is your daily bead-woman% 
Margt. Bryan. 

^ A festival. 
^ Shown in public. 
^Poor hand-writing. 

*A woman who prays for the spiritual welfare of another, Cf. 
beadsman. 



PRINCE EDWARD 



PRINCE EDWARD TO HIS SISTER 
ELIZABETH 

December 5, 1546. 

Change of place, in fact, did not vex me so much, 
dearest sister, as your going from me. Now, however, 
nothing can happen more agreeable to me than a letter 
from you; and especially as you were the first to send a 
letter to me, and have challenged me to write. Where- 
fore I thank you both for your good-will and despatch. 
I will then strive, to my utmost power, if not to surpass, 
at least to equal you in good-will and zeal. But this 
is some comfort to my grief, that I hope to visit you short- 
ly (if no accident intervene with either m.e or you), as 
my chamberlain has reported to me. Farewell, dearest 
sister! 

Edward the Prince. 



ROGER ASCHAM TO JOHN STURMIUS 

1550. 

.... Never was the nobility of England more lettered 
than at present. Our illustrious King Edward in talent, 
industry, perseverance, and erudition, surpasses both 

his own years and the belief of men I doubt 

not that France will also yield the just praise of learning 



ROGER ASCHAM 7 

to the Duke of Suffolk and the rest of that band of noble 
youths educated with the King in Greek and Latin liter- 
ature, who depart for that country on this very day. 

Numberless honourable ladies of the present time 
surpass the daughters of Sir Thomas More in every kind 
of learning. But among them all, my illustrious mis- 
tress the Lady Elizabeth shines like a star, excelling them 
more by the splendour of her virtues and her learning, 
than by the glory of her royal birth. In the variety of 
her commendable qualities, I am less perplexed to find 
matter for the highest panegyric than to circumscribe 
that panegyric within just bounds. Yet I shall mention 
nothing respecting her but v/hat has come under my 
own observation. 

.... The Lady Elizabeth has accomplished her 
sixteenth year; and so much solidity of understanding, 
such courtesy united with dignity, have never been ob- 
served at so early an age. She has the most ardent love 
of true religion and of the best kind of literature. The 
constitution of her mind is exempt from female weakness, 
and she is endued with a masculine power of applica- 
tion. No apprehension can be quicker than her's, no 
memory more retentive. French and Italian she speaks 
like English; Latin, with fluency, propriety, and judg- 
ment; she also spoke Greek with me, frequently, will- 
ingly, and moderately well. Nothing can be more 
elegant than her hand-writing, whether in the Greek or 
Roman character. In music she is very skilful, but does 
not greatly delight. With respect to personal decora- 
tion, she greatly prefers a simple elegance to show and 
splendour, so despising "the outward adorning of plait- 



8 ROGER ASCHAM 

ing the hair and of wearing of gold," that in the whole 
manner of her life she rather resembles Hippolyta than 
Phaedra. 

She read with me almost the whole of Cicero, and a 
great part of Livy: from these two authors, indeed, her 
knowledge of the Latin language has been almost ex- 
clusively derived. The beginning of the day was always 
devoted by her to the New Testament in Greek, after 
which she read select orations of Isocrates^ and the trag- 
edies of Sophocles-, which I judged best adapted to supply 
her tongue with the purest diction, her mind with the 
most excellent precepts, and her exalted station with a 
defence against the utmost power of fortune. For her 
religious instruction, she drew first from the fountains 
of Scripture, and afterwards from St. Cyprian^ the 
"Commonplaces" of Melancthon*, and similar works 
which convey pure doctrine in elegant language. In 
every kind of writing she easily detected any ill-adapted 
or far-fetched expression. She could not bear those 
feeble imitators of Erasmus who bind the Latin language 
in the fetters of miserable proverbs; on the other hand, 
she approved a style chaste in its propriety, and beauti- 
ful by perspicuity, and she greatly admired metaphors, 
when not too violent, and antitheses when just, and 
happily opposed. By a diligent attention to these partic- 

* The famous teacher of rhetoric at Athens, 436-338 b.c. 

^ The greatest of the three great tragic poets of Greece, 495 ?-4o6 

B.C. 

^An ecclesiastic and martyr of the early African Church, 200?-258. 
^ The celebrated German reformer, 1497-1560, contemporary with 
Luther. 



ROGER ASCHAM 9 

ulars, her ears became so practised and so nice, that there 
was nothing in Greek, Latin, or English, prose or verse, 
which, according to its merits or defects, she did not 
either reject with disgust, or receive with the highest 

delight Had I more leisure, I would speak 

to you at greater length of the King, of the Lady Eliza- 
beth, and of the daughters of the Duke of Somerset, 
whose minds have also been formed by the best liter- 
ary instruction. But there are two English ladies whom 
I cannot omit to mention; nor would I have you, my 
Sturmius, omit them, if you meditate any celebration 
of your English friends, than which nothing could be 
more agreeable to me. One is Jane Grey, the other 
is Mildred Cecil, who understands and speaks Greek 
like English, so that it may be doubted whether she is 
most happy in the possession of this surpassing degree 
of knowledge, or in having had for her preceptor and 
father Sir Anthony Cooke, whose singular erudition 
caused him to be joined with John Cheke' in the office 
of tutor to the King, or finally, in having become the 
wife of William Cecil, lately appointed secretary of 
state; a young man indeed, but mature in wisdom, and 
so deeply skilled both in letters and in affairs, and en- 
dued with such moderation in the exercise of public 
offices, that to him would be awarded by the consenting 
voice of Englishmen the four-fold praise attributed to 
Pericles by his rival Thucydides — "To know all that is 
fitting, to be able to apply what he knows, to be a lover 
of his country, and superior to money." 

^ The first professor of Greek at Cambridge and tutor to Edward 
VI. 



10 JOHN HOOPER 



JOHN HOOPER TO HEINRICH BULL- 
INGER 

Dated from Prison, Sept. 3, 1553. 

Greeting. You have been accustomed, my very dear 
gossip*, heavily to complain of me, and very properly, for 
having so seldom v^ritten to you. But I have now writ- 
ten you many letters during the past year, without having 
received a single one in reply. I know that you are not 
unacquainted with the state of our kingdom. Our king 
has been removed from us by reason of our sins, to the 
very great peril of our church. His sister Mary has 
succeeded, whom I pray God always to aid by his Holy 
Spirit, that she may reign and govern in all respects 
to the glory of his name. The altars are again set up 
throughout the kingdom; private masses are frequently 
celebrated in many quarters; the true worship of God, 
true invocation, the right use of the sacraments, are all 
done away with; divine things are trodden under foot, 
and human things have the preeminence. May God 
be present with his church, for the sake of his only Son 
Jesus Christ! All godly preachers are placed in the 
greatest danger: those who have not yet known by ex- 
perience the filthiness of a prison, are hourly looking 
for it. Meanwhile they are all of them forbidden to 
preach by pubhc authority. The enemies of the gospel 
are appointed in their places, and proclaim to the people 
from the pulpit human doctrines instead of divine truths. 
* Familiar acquaintance, friend. 



SIR HENRY SIDNEY 11 

We now place our confidence in God alone, and earnestly 
entreat him to comfort and strengthen us to endure any 
sufferings whatever for the glory of his name. In haste, 

from prison, at London. Sept. 3, 1553 

Yours wholly, 

John Hooper, 
Bishop of Worcester and Gloucester. 



SIR HENRY SIDNEY TO HIS SON 
PHILIP SIDNEY 

[1566] 

I have received two letters from you, one written in 
Latin, the other in French, which I take in good part, 
and will you to exercise that practice of learning often: 
for that will stand you in most stead, in that profession 
of life that you are born to live in. And, since this is 
my first letter that ever I did write to you, I will not, 
that it be all empty of some advices, which my natural 
care of you provoked me to wish you to follow, as docu- 
ments to you in this your tender age. Let your first 
action be, the lifting up of your mind to Almighty God, 
by hearty prayer, and feelingly digest the words you 
speak in prayer, with continual meditation, and think- 
ing of him to whom you pray, and of the matter for which 
you pray. And use this as an ordinary^ and at an ordin- 
ary hour. Whereby the time itself will put you in re- 
membrance to do that which you are accustomed to do. 
^ A devotional manual containing instruction for the conduct of life. 



12 SIR HENRY SIDNEY 

In that time apply your study to such hours as your 
discreet master doth assign you, earnestly; and the time 
(I know) he will so limit, as shall be both sufficient for 
your learning, and safe for your health. And mark the 
sense and the matter of that you read, as well as the 
words. So shall you both enrich your tongue with words, 
and your wit with matter; and judgment will grow as 
years groweth in you. Be humble and obedient to 
your master, for unless you frame yourself to obey others, 
yea, and feel in yourself what obedience is, you shall 
never be able to teach others how to obey you. Be 
courteous of gesture, and affable to all men, with diversity 
of reverence, according to the dignity of the person. 
There is nothing that winneth so much with so little 
cost. Use moderate diet, so as, after your meat, you 
may find your wit fresher, and not duller, and your body 
more lively, and not more heavy. Seldom drink wine, 
and yet sometime do, lest being enforced to drink upon 
the sudden, you should find yourself inflamed. Use 
exercise of body, but such as is without peril of your 
joints or bones. It will increase your force, and en- 
large your breath. Delight to be cleanly, as well in 
all parts of your body, as in your garments. It shall 
make you grateful in each company, and otherwise 
loathsome. Give yourself to be merry, for you degener- 
ate from your father, if you find not yourself most able 
in wit and body, to do any thing, when you be most 
merry; but let your mirth be ever void of all scurrility, 
and biting words to any man, for a wound given by a 
word is oftentimes harder to be cured than that which 
is given with the sword. Be you rather a hearer and 



SIR HENRY SIDNEY 13 

bearer away of other men's talk, than a beginner or 
procurer of speech, otherwise you shall be counted to 
delight to hear yourself speak. If you hear a wise sen- 
tence, or an apt phrase, commit it to your memory, with 
respect of the circumstance, when you shall speak it. 
Let never oath be heard to come out of your mouth, 
nor words of ribaldry; detest it in others, so shall cus- 
tom make to yourself a law against it in yourself. Be 
modest in each assembly, and rather be rebuked of 
light fellows, for maiden-like shamefacedness, than 
of your sad friends for pert boldness. Think upon every 
word that you will speak, before you utter it, and re- 
member how nature hath rampired up (as it were) the 
tongue with teeth, lips, yea, and hair without the lips, 
and all betokening reins, or bridles, for the loose use of 
that member. Above all things tell no untruth, no, not 
in trifles. The custom of it is naughty, and let it not 
satisfy you, that, for a time, the hearers take it for a 
truth; for after it will be known as it is, to your shame; 
for there cannot be a greater reproach to a gentleman 
than to be accounted a liar. Study and endeavour your- 
self to be virtuously occupied. So shall you make such 
an habit of well-doing in you, that you shall not know 
how to do evil, though you would. Remember, my son, 
the noble blood you are descended of, by your mother's^ 
side; and think that only by virtuous life and good action, 
you may be an ornament to that illustrious family; and 
otherwise, through vice and sloth, you shall be counted 

* His mother was Mary, the eldest daughter of John Dudley, Earl 
of Northumberland, and the sister of Queen Elizabeth's favorite, the 
Earl of Leicester. 



14 JOHN DONNE 

lahes generis, one of the greatest curses that can happen 
to man. Well (my little Philip) this is enough for me, 
and too much, I fear, for you. But if I shall find that 
this light meal of digestion nourish anything the weak 
stomach of your young capacity, I will, as I find the 
same grow stronger, feed it with tougher food. Your 
loving father, so long as you live in the fear of God. 



JOHN DONNE TO THE WORTHIEST 
LADY MRS. BRIDGET WHITE 

Madame, I could make some guess whether souls that 
go to heaven retain any memory of us that stay behind, 
if I knew whether you ever thought of us, since you 
enjoyed your heaven, which is yourself, at home. 

Your going away hath made London a dead carcass. 
A Term and a Court do a little spice and embalm it 
and keep it from putrefaction, but the soul went away 
in you; and I think the only reason why the plague^ is 
somewhat slackened is because the place is dead already, 
and nobody left in it worth the killing. 

Wheresoever you are there is London enough; and 
it is a diminishing of you to say so, since you are more 
than the rest of the world. When you have a desire 
to work a miracle you will return hither, and both raise 
the place from the dead and the dead also who are in 
it; of which I were one, but that a hope that I have a 

* The great plague years in England were 1603, 1625, 1665, but in 
London the disease was what we should call epidemic every year 
between these dates. 



JAMES HOWELL 15 

place in your favor keeps me alive; which you shall 
abundantly confirm to me, if by one letter you vouchsafe 
to tell me that you have received my six, for nov^ my 
letters are grown to that bulk, that I may divide them 
alike Amadis de Gaul's^ books, and tell you that this 
is the first letter of the second part of the first book. 
Your humblest and affectionate servant, 

J. D. 
Strand, St. Peter's Day at nine, 29th June (1609 .?). 



JAMES HOWELL TO SIR J. S AT 

LEEDS CASTLE 

Sir, it was a quaint difference the ancients^ did put 
'twixt a letter and an oration; that the one should be 
attired like a woman, the other like a man: the latter of 
the two is allowed large side robes, as long periods, pa- 
rentheses, similes, examples, and other parts of rhetorical 
flourishes; but a letter or epistle should be short-coated, 
and closely couched; a hungerlin^ becomes a letter more 
handsomely than a gown; indeed we should write as 
we speak; and that's a true familiar letter which ex- 
presses one's mind, as if he were discoursing with the 

'■ The hero of the famous medieval romance of Spain. 

^ Cicero compares the style of a letter with that of a speech, in a 
letter to Papirius Psetus, Epistolae ad Familiares IX 21; and Quin- 
tihan uses the figure of dress in discussing the language proper for an 
orator. Bk. VIII. ch. iii. 

'A sort of short furred robe, so named from having been derived 
from Hungary. Nares Glossary. 



16 JAMES HOWELL 

party to whom he writes, in succinct and short terms. 
The tongue, and the pen, are both of them interpreters 
of the mind; but I hold the pen to be the more faithful 
of the two. The tongue in udo posita, being seated in a 
moist slippery place, may fail and falter in her sudden 
extemporal expressions; but the pen having a greater 
advantage of premeditation, is not so subject to error, 
and leaves things behind it upon firm and authentic 
record. Now, letters, though they be capable of any 
subject, yet commonly they are either narratory, objurga- 
tory ^ consolatory, monitor y, or congratulatory^. The 
first consists of relations, the second of reprehensions, 
the third of comfort, the two last of counsel and joy; 
there are some, who in lieu of letters, write homilies; 
they preach, when they should epistolize: there are 
others that turn them to tedious tractates: this is to 
make letters degenerate from their true nature. Some 
modern authors there are who have exposed their let- 
ters to the world, but most of them, I mean among your 
Latin epistolizers, go freighted with mere Bartholomew 
ware^, with trite and trivial phrases only, listed with 
pedantic shreds of school-boy verses. Others there 
are among our next transmarine neighbors eastward, 
who write in their own language, but their style is soft 
and easy, that their letters may be said to be like bodies 

This was a common classification; practically the same is found 
in The English Secretary by Angel Day, 1635. See Introduction, 
page XXV. 

The wares sold at the Bartholomew Fair which was held annually 
during August from 1 133-1855, in West Smithfield, a quarter of 
London. 



JAMES HOWELL 11 

of loose flesh without sinews; they have neither joints 
of art nor arteries in them; they have a kind of simper- 
ing and lank hectic expressions made up of a bombast 
of words, and finical affected compliments only: I can- 
not well away with such sleazy stuff, with such cob-web 
compositions, where there is no strength of matter, 
nothing for the reader to carry away with him, that may 
enlarge the notions of his soul. One can hardly find 
an apophthegm, example, simile, or any thing of phi- 
losophy, history, or solid knowledge, or as much as one 
new created phrase, in a hundred of them: and to draw 
any observations out of them, were as if one went about 
to distil cream out of froth; insomuch that it may be 
said of them, what was said of the Echo. That she's a 
mere sound and nothing else. 

I return you your Balzac by this bearer: and when I 
found those letters, wherein he is so familiar with his 
King, so flat; and those to Richelieu, so puffed with pro- 
fane hyperboles and larded up and down with such gross 
flatteries, .... I forbore him further. 
So I am Your most affection servitor. 

J. n. 

WeSTMIN., 25 July 1625. 



18 BRILLIANA HARLEY 



BRILLIANA HARLEY TO EDWARD 
HARLEY 

For my dear son Mr. Edward Harley, 

In Magdalen Hall, Oxford. 

My Dear Ned It is my comfort that I enjoy so con- 
stant assurance of your health; in which mercy I hope 
the Lord will be still gracious to me, and I trust the Lord 
will crown that mercy in filling you with grace. 

I thank you for your letter by Looker, though it may 
be your sister will not thank you for her token, because 
the expectation was disappointed, at which I could 
not but laugh. 

Your father, I thank God, is well, and likely, as they 
say, to be knight of this shire; I do not yet hear that 
the writ is come into this county, though it be in divers 
others: I thank God these two days I have risen be- 
tween II and 12 o'clock, and sat up till 6; and I hope 

1 shall do so this day, I mean, sit up so long, for I rose 
to-day about ii. 

I have sent you by this carry another turkey pie, with 

2 turkeys in it; I hope the cook has baked it well. I did 
think the glass of water would not be well stopped up. 
I take it as a special providence of God, that I have so 
froward a maid about me as Mary is, since I love peace 
and quietness so well; she has been extremely froward 
since I have been ill; I did not think any would have 
been so choleric. 



DOROTHY OSBORNE 19 

I pray God, if ever you have a wife, she may be of a 
meek and quiet spirit. My dear Ned, the Lord bless 
you, and so I rest. 

Your most affectionate mother, 

Brilliana Harley. 
Mar: 6, 1639, f^^^ ^y chair by the fire. 

Remember my love to your worthy tutor. 
I have now received the book you sent me, and 
thank you for it. 



DOROTHY OSBORNE TO SIR WILLIAM 
TEMPLE 

(1653?) 
Sir,— 

The day I should have received your letter I was in- 
vited to dine at a rich widow's (whom I think I once told 
you of^, and offered my service in case you thought fit 
to make addresses there); and she was so kind, and in 
so good humour, that if I had had any commission I 
should have thought it a very fit time to speak. We had 
a huge dinner, though the company was only of her own 
kindred that are in the house with her and what I brought; 
but she is broke loose from an old miserable husband 
that lived so long, she thinks if she does not make haste 
she shall not have time to spend what he left. She is 
old and was never handsome, and yet is courted a thou- 
sand times more than the greatest beauty in the world 
would be that had not a fortune. We could not eat 

^ See Letter 16, in Letters of Dorothy Osborne. 



20 DOROTHY OSBORNE 

in quiet for the letters and presents that came in from 
people that would not have looked upon her when they 
had met her if she had been left poor. I could not but 
laugh to myself at the meanness of their humour, and 
was merry enough all day, for the company was very 
good; and besides, I expected to find when I came home 
a letter from you that would be more a feast and com- 
pany to me than all that was there. But never anybody 
was so defeated as I was to find none. I could not 
imagine the reason, only I assured myself it was no fault 
of yours, but perhaps a just punishment upon me for 
having been too much pleased in a company where you 
were not. 

After supper my brother and I fell into dispute about 
riches, and the great advantages of it; he instanced in 
the widow that it made one respected in the world. I 
said 'twas true, but that was a respect I should not at 
all value when I owed it only to my fortune. And we 
debated it so long till we had both talked ourselves weary 
enough to go to bed. Yet I did not sleep so well but 
that I chid my maid for waking me in the morning, till 
she stopped my mouth with saying she had letters for 
me. I had not patience to stay till I could rise, but made 
her tie up all the curtains to let in light; and among 
some others I found my dear letter that was first to be 
read, and which made all the rest not worth the reading. 
I could not but wonder to find in it that my cousin Frank- 
lin should want a true friend when 'tis thought she has 
the best husband in the world; he was so passionate 
for her before he had her, and so pleased with her since, 
that, in earnest, I did not think it possible she could 



DOROTHY OSBORNE 21 

have anything left to wish for that she had not already 
in such a husband with such a fortune. But she can 
best tell whether she is happy or not; only if she be not, 
I do not see how anybody else can hope it. I know her 
the least of all the sisters, and perhaps 'tis to my advan- 
tage that she knows me no more, since she speaks so 
obligingly of me. But do you think it was altogether 
without design she spoke it to you ? When I remember 
she is Tom Cheeke's sister', I am apt to think she might 
have heard his news, and meant to try whether there was 
anything of truth in't. My cousin Molle, I think, 
means to end the summer there. They say, indeed, 
'tis a very fine seat, but if I did not mistake Sir Thomas 
Cheeke, he told me there was never a good room in the 
house. I was wondering how you came by an acquaint- 
ance there, because I had never heard you speak that 
you knew them. I never saw him in my life, but he is 
famous for a kind husband. Only 'twas found fault 
with that he could not forbear kissing his wife before 
company, a fooHsh trick that young married men are 
apt to; he has left it long since, I suppose. But, seri- 
ously, 'tis as ill a sight as one would wish to see, and 
appears very rude, methinks, to the company. 

What a strange fellow this goldsmith is, he has a head 
fit for nothing but horns. I chid him once for a seal 
he set me just of this fashion and the same colours. 
If he were to make twenty they should be all so, his in- 
vention can stretch no further than blue and red. It 

1 See Letter 24 (ibid.), in which Dorothy expresses her desire to keep 
their friendship from the gossiping world. Tom Cheeke, who was 
spreading the news, was her distant cousin. 



22 MR. PENRUDDOCK 

makes me think of the fellow that could paint nothing 
but a flower-de-luce, who, when he met with one that 
was so firmly resolved to have a lion for his sign that 
there was no persuading him out on't, "Well," says the 
painter, "let it be a lion then, but it shall be as like a 
flower-de-luce as e'er you saw." So, because you would 
have it a dolphin, he consented to it, but it is like an 
ill-favoured knot of ribbon. I did not say anything of 
my father's being ill of late; I think I told you before, 
he kept his chamber ever since his last sickness, and so 
he does still. Yet I cannot say that he is at all sick, but 
has so general a weakness upon him that I am much 
afraid their opinion of him has too much of truth in it, 
and do extremely apprehend how the winter may work 
upon him. Will you pardon this strange scribbled letter, 
and the disorderliness on't ? I know you would, though 
I should not tell you that I am not so much at leisure as 
I used to be. You can forgive your friends anything, 
and when I am not the faithfullest of those, never for- 
give me. You may direct your letters how you please, 
here will be nobody to receive it but Your. 



MR. PENRUDDOCK'S LAST LETTER 
TO HIS WIFE 

May, 1655. 

Dearest Best of Creatures! I had taken leave of 
the world when I received yours: it did at once recall 
my fondness to life, and enable me to resign it. As I 



SIR THOMAS BROWNE 23 

am sure I shall leave none behind me like you, which 
weakens my resolution to part from you, so when I 
reflect I am going to a place where there are none but 
such as you, I recover my courage. But fondness 
breaks in upon me; and as I would not have my tears 
flow tomorrow, when your husband, and the father 
of our dear babes, is a public spectacle, do not think 
meanly of me, that I give way to grief now in private, 
when I see my sand run so fast, and within a few hours 
I am to leave you helpless, and exposed to the merciless 
and insolent that have wrongfully put me to a shame- 
less death, and will object the shame to my poor children. 
I thank you for all your goodness to me, and will en- 
deavor so to die as to do nothing unworthy that virtue 
in which we have mutually supported each other, and 
for which I desire you not to repine that I am first to be 
rewarded, since you ever preferred me to yourself in all 
other things. Affbrd me, with cheerfulness, the pre- 
cedence of this. I desire your prayers in the article 
of death; for my own will then be off'ered for you and 
yours. J. Penruddock. 



SIR THOMAS BROWNE TO HIS SON 
DR. EDWARD BROWNE 

August 22 (1689) 

Dear Son, 

I was very glad to receive your last letter. God hath 
heard our prayers, and I hope will bless you still. If 
the profits of the next year come not up to this, I would 



24 SIR THOMAS BROWNE 

not have you discouraged; for the profits of no practice 
are equal or regular: and you have had some extra- 
ordinary patients this year, which, perhaps, some years 
will not afford. Now is your time to be frugal and lay 
by. I thought myself rich enough till my children grew 
up. Be careful of yourself, and temperate, that you may 
be able to go through your practice; for to attain to the, 
getting of a thousand pounds a year requires no small 
labor of body and mind, and is a life not much less painful 
and laborious than that which the meaner sort of people 
go through. When you put out your money, be well 
assured of the assurance; and be wise therein from what 
your father hath suffered. It is laudable to dwell hand- 
somely; but be not too forward to build, or set forth 
another man's house, or so to fill it that it may increase 
the fuel, if God should please to send fire. The merci- 
ful God direct you in all. Excess in apparel and charge- 
able dresses are got into the country, especially among 
women; men go decently and plain enough. The last 
assizes there was a concourse of women at that they call 
my lord's garden in Cunsford, and so richly dressed 
that some strangers said there was scarce the like to be 
seen at Hide Park, which makes Charity cold. We now 
hear that parliament shall sit the 2i of October, which will 
make London very full in Michaelmas term. We hear 
of two ostriches which are brought from Tangier. I 
saw one in the latter end of King James his days, at 
Greenwich, when I was a Schoolboy. King Charles 
the first had a cassawary, or emu, whose fine green chan- 
nelled egg I have, and you have seen it. I doubt these 
will not be shown at Bartholomew fair, where everyone 



JOSEPH ADDISON 25 

may see them for his money God bless my 

daughter Browne and you all. 

Your loving Father, 

Thomas Browne. 
I have not had Mrs. Felthem at any entertainment 
at my house, because she soon expects her husband. 
I hear but of a few East India ships' arrival this year, 
nor whether they have brought as many diamonds, 
etc. as formerly. 

These for Sir Edward Browne, in Salisbury Court, 
next the Golden Balls. 



JOSEPH ADDISON TO (MR. WORTLEY 
MONTAGU ?) 

(Rome, August 7, 1701) 
Dear Sir — 

I hope this will find you safe at Geneva; and that the 
adventure of the rivulet, which you have so well cele- 
brated in your last, has been the worst you have met with 
in your journey thither. I cannot but envy your being 
among the Alps, where you may see frost and snow in 
the dog-days: we are here quite burnt up, and are at 
least ten degrees nearer the sun than when you left us. 
I am very well satisfied it was in August that Virgil 
wrote his, 

"O, qui me gelidis sub montibus Haemi"^, &c. 

^ Misquoted from Vergil's Georgics, Bk. II, 1. 488, "O, qui me gelidis 
con vallibus Hoemj." 



26 JOSEPH ADDISON 

Our days at present, like those in the first chapter of 
Genesis, consist only of the evening and the morning; 
for the Roman noons are as silent as the midnights in 
other countries. But among all these inconveniencies, 
the greatest I suffer is from your departure, which is 
more afflicting to me than the canicule^ I am forced, 
for want of better company, to converse with pictures, 
statues, and medals; for you must know, I deal very 
much in ancient coin, and can count out a sum in ses- 
terces with as much ease as in pounds sterling. I am a 
great critic in rust, and can tell you the age of it at first 
sight. I am only in some danger of losing my acquaint- 
ance with our English money; for at present I am much 
more used to the Roman. 

If you glean up any of our country news, be so kind 
as to forward it this way. Pray give Mr. Dashwood's, 
and my very humble service to Sir Thomas, and accept 
of the same yourself, from. 

Dear sir, your most affectionate humble servant, 

J. Addison. 



JOSEPH ADDISON TO THE EARL OF 
WARWICK 

(Sandy-End, May 27, 1708) 
My Dearest Lord — 

I cannot forbear being troublesome to your Lordship 
whilst I am in your neighborhood. The business of 
this is to invite you to a concert of music, which I have 

* Dog-days; a word rarely used formerly and now obsolete. 



RICHARD STEELE 27 

found out in a neighboring wood. It begins precisely 
at six in the evening and consists of a black-bird, a thrush, 
a robin-red-breast, and a bull-finch. There is a lark 
that by way of overture sings and mounts till she is 
almost out of hearing; and afterwards, falhng down 
leisurely, drops to the ground as soon as she has ended 
her song. The whole is concluded by a nightingale 
that has a much better voice than Mrs. Tofts, and 
something of the Itahan manner in her divisions. If 
your Lordship will honor me with your company, I will 
promise to entertain you with much better music and 
more agreeable scenes than ever you met with at the 
opera; and will conclude with a charming description 
of a nightingale, out of our friend Virgil: — .... 

"So, close in poplar shades, her children gone, 
The mother nightingale laments alone; 
Whose nest some prying churl had found, and thence 
By stealth conveyed th"" unfeatherM innocence. 
But she supphes the night with mournful strains, 
And melancholy music fills the plains." * 
Your Lordship's most obedient, 

J. Addison. 



RICHARD STEELE TO MRS. SCURLOCK 

Sept. 2, 1707, between One and Two. 

Dear Creature, Ever since seven this morning I 
have been in company, but have stolen a moment to 
pour out the fulness of my thoughts, and complain to 

^ From Dryden's translation of Vergil's Georgics, 511-515. 



28 RICHARD STEELE 

you of the interruption that impertinent amusement 
called business has given me amidst my contemplation 
on the best of women, and the most agreeable object 
that ever charmed the heart of man. I am, dearest, 
loveliest creature, eternally thine, 

R. Steele. 



RICHARD STEELE TO MRS. STEELE 

Jan. 3, 1708, Devil Tavern, Temple-Bar. 
Dear Prue 

I have partly succeeded in my business to-day and 
enclose tv^o guineas as earnest of more. Dear Prue 
I can't come home to dinner. I languish for your wel- 
fare and will never be a moment careless more. 

Your faithful husband, 

R: Steele. 
Send me word you have received this. 



RICHARD STEELE TO MRS. STEELE 

Sept, 19th, 1708, five in the Evening. 
Dear Prue 

I send you seven-pennyworth of walnuts at five a 
penny which is the greatest proof at present of my being 
with my whole heart 

Yours, 

RicH^ Steele. 



RICHARD STEELE 29 



RICHARD STEELE TO SALLY STEELE 

Dear Prue 

Molly's distemper proves the small-pox, which she 
has very favorably, and a good kind. Mrs. Evans is 
very good and nurse Jervase very diligent; Sarah has 
every good quality and the v^hole family are in health 
beside the dear infant. 

I am very close at my papers not having been two 
hours out of the house since I parted with you. Pray 
take care of yourself. I love you to distraction for I 
cannot be angry at anything you do, let it be never so 
odd and unexpected to the tenderest of husbands, 

Richard Steele. 

Saturday, Nov. 17, 17 16. 

We had not when you left us an inch of candle a pound 
of coal or a bit of meat, in the house. But we do not 
want now. 

R. S. 



RICHARD STEELE TO LADY STEELE 

Hampton-Court, March, 16,1717. 
Dear Prue 

If you have written anything to me which I should 
have received last night I beg your pardon that I cannot 



30 DEAN SWIFT 

answer till the next post. The House of Commons* 
will be very busy the next week and I had many things 
public and private for which I wanted four and twenty 
hours' retirement and therefore came to visit your son. 
I came out of town yesterday being Friday and shall 
return tomorrow. Your son at the present writing is 
mighty well employed in tumbling on the floor of the 
room, and sweeping the sand with a feather. He grows 
a most delightful child, and very full of play and spirit. 
He is also a very great scholar. He can read his Primer, 
and I have brought down my Virgil. He makes most 
shrewd remarks upon the pictures. We are very inti- 
mate friends and playfellows. He begins to be very 
ragged and I hope I shall be pardoned if I equip him 
with new clothes and frocks or what Mrs. Evans and 
I shall think for his service. I am, dear Prue, 
Ever yours 

Richard Steele. 



DEAN SWIFT TO STELLA 

London, Nov. 15, 17 12. 

Before this comes to your hands, you will have heard 
of the most terrible accident that hath almost ever hap- 
pened. This morning at eight, my man brought me 
word that Duke Hamilton had fought with Lord Mohun, 
and killed him, and was brought home wounded. I 
immediately sent him to the Duke's house, in St. James's 

* Steele was at this tkne member of Parliament for Boroughbridge, 
Yorkshire. 



DEAN SWIFT 31 

Square; but the porter could hardly answer for tears, 
and a great rabble was about the house. In short, they 
fought at seven this morning. The dog Mohun was 
killed on the spot; and, while the duke was over him, 
Mohun shortened his sv/ord, stabbed him in at the 
shoulder to the heart. The duke was helped toward 
the cake-house by the ring in Hyde Park, (where they 
fought), and died on the grass, before he could reach 
the house; and was brought home in his coach by eight, 
while the poor duchess was asleep. Macartney, and 
one Hamilton, were the seconds, who fought likewise, 
and are both fled. I am told, that a footman of Lord 
Mohun's stabbed Duke Hamilton; and some say Mac- 
artney did so too. Mohun gave the affront, and yet 
sent the challenge. I am infinitely concerned for the 
poor duke, who was a frank, honest, good-natured man. 
I loved him very well, and I think he loved me better. 
He had the greatest mind in the world to have me go 
with him to France, but durst not tell it me; and those 
he did tell, said I could not be spared, which was true. 
They have removed the poor duchess to a lodging in 
the neighborhood, where I have been with her two hours, 
and am just come away. I never saw so melancholy a 
scene; for indeed all reasons for real grief belong to 
her; nor is it possible for anybody to be a greater loser 
in all regards. She has moved my very soul. The 
lodging was inconvenient, and they would have removed 
her to another; but I would not suffer it, because it 
had no room backward, and she must have been tor- 
tured with the noise of the Grub Street screamers men- 
tioning her husband's murder in her ears. 



32 ALEXANDER POPE 



London, Feb. lo, 1712-1713. 

I thought to have dined with lord-treasurer to-day, 
but he dined abroad at Tom Harley's; so I dined at 
Lofd Masham's, and was winning all I had lost playing 
with Lady Masham at crown piquet, when we went to 
pools, and I lost it again. Lord-treasurer came in to us, 
and chid me for not following him to Tom Harley's. 
Miss Ashe is still the same, and they think her not in 
danger; my man calls there daily after I am gone out, 
and tells me at night. I was this morning to see Lady 
Jersey, and we have made twenty parties about dining 
together, and I shall hardly keep one of them. She is 
reduced after all her greatness to seven servants, and a 
small house, and no coach. I like her tolerably as 
yet. 

Night, MD. 



ALEXANDER POPE TO MISS MARTHA 
BLOUNT 

Stanton Harcourt? 171 6. 

Nothing could have more of that melancholy which 
once used to please me than my last day's journey; for, 
after having passed through my favorite woods in the 
forests, with a thousand reveries of past pleasures, I 
rid over hanging hills, whose tops were edged with groves, 
and whose feet watered with winding rivers, listening 



ALEXANDER POPE 33 

to the falls of cataracts below, and the murmuring of 
the winds above. The gloomy verdure of Stonor suc- 
ceeded to these, and then the shades of the evening over- 
took me. The moon rose in the clearest sky I ever saw, 
by whose solemn light I paced on slowly, without com- 
pany, or any interruption to the range of my thoughts. 
About a mile before I reached Oxford all the bells 
tolled in different notes, the clocks of every College 
answered one another, and sounded forth (some in a 
deeper, some a softer tone) that it was eleven at night. 
All this was no ill preparation to the life I have led since, 
among those old walls, venerable galleries, stone porti- 
coes, studious walks, and solitary scenes of the University. 
I wanted nothing but a black gown and a salary, to be as 
mere a bookworm as any there. I conformed myself 
to the college hours, was rolled up in books, lay in one 
of the most ancient, dusky, parts of the University, and 
was as dead to the world as any hermit of the desert. 
If anything was alive or awake in me, it was a little 
vanity, such as even those good men used to entertain, 
when the monks of their own order extolled their piety 
and abstraction. For I found myself received with a 
sort of respect, which this idle part of mankind, the 
learned, pay to their own species, who are as considerable 
here as the busy, the gay, the ambitious are in your 
worlds 

Indeed, I was treated in such a manner, that I could 
not but sometimes ask myself, in my mind, what College 
I was founder of, or what Library I had built. Me- 
thinks I do very ill, to return to the world again, to leave 

^ Pope was not a university man. 



34 ALEXANDER POPE 

the only place where I make a figure, and, from seeing 
myself seated with dignity on the most conspicuous 
shelves of the library, put myself into the abject pos- 
ture of lying at a lady's feet in St. James's Square. I 
will not deny but that, like Alexander, in the midst of 
my glory, I am wounded, and find myself a mere man. 
To tell you from whence the dart comes is to no pur- 
pose, since neither of you will take the tender care to 
draw it out of my heart, and suck the poison with 
your lips. 

Here, at my Lord Harcourt's, I see a creature nearer 
an angel than a woman (though a woman be very near 
as good as an angel): I think you have formerly heard 

me mention Mrs. T , as a credit to the Maker of 

angels. She is a relation of his Lordship's, and he grave- 
ly proposed her to me for a wife, being tender of her 
interests, and knowing (what is a shame to Providence) 
that she is less indebted to fortune than L I told him 
it was what he never could have thought of, if it had 
not been his misfortune to be blind, and what I never 
could think of, while I had eyes to see both her and 
myself. 

I must not conclude without telling you that/ 1 will 
do the utmost in the affair you desire. It would be an 
inexpressible joy to me, if I could serve you, and I will 
always do all I can to give myself pleasure. I wish as 
well for you as for myself. I am in love with you both 
as much as I am with myself: for I find myself most 
so with either when I least suspect it. 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 35 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU TO THE 
COUNTESS OF [MAR.] 

Adrianople, April i8, O. S. [1717]. 

I wrote to you, dear sister, and to all my other English 
correspondents, by the last ship, and only Heaven can 
tell when I shall have another opportunity of sending to 
you; but I cannot forbear writing, though perhaps my 
letter may lie upon my hands this two months. To con- 
fess the truth, my head is so full of my entertainment 
yesterday, that 'tis absolutely necessary for my own re- 
pose to give it some vent. Without farther preface, 
I will then begin my story. 

I was invited to dine with the Grand Vizier's lady, 
and it was with a great deal of pleasure I prepared my- 
self for an entertainment which was never given before to 
any Christian. I thought I should very little satisfy her 
curiosity (which I did not doubt was a considerable 
motive to the invitation) by going in a dress she was used 
to see, and therefore dressed myself in the court habit 
of Vienna, which is much more magnificent than ours. 
However, I chose to go incognitay to avoid any disputes 
about ceremony, and went in a Turkish coach, only 
attended by my woman that held up my train, and the 
Greek lady who was my interpretess. I was met at the 
court door by her black eunuch, who helped me out of 
the coach with great respect, and conducted me through 
several rooms, where her she-slaves, finely dressed, were 



36 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 

ranged on each side. In the innermost I found the lady 
sitting on her sofa, in a sable vest. She advanced to 
meet me, and presented me half a dozen of her friends 
with great civiHty. She seemed a very good w^oman, 
near fifty years old. I was surprised to observe so little 
magnificence in her house, the furniture being all very 
moderate; and, except the habits and number of her 
slaves, nothing about her that appeared expensive. 
She guessed at my thoughts, and told me that she was 
no longer of an age to spend either her time or money 
in superfluities; that her whole expense was in charity, 
and her whole employment praying to God. There was 
no affectation in this speech; both she and her husband 
are entirely given up to devotion. He never looks upon 
any other woman; and, what is much more extraordinary, 
touches no bribes, notwithstanding the example of all 
his predecessors. He is so scrupulous in this point, 
that he would not accept Mr. W 's [Wortley's] pres- 
ent, till he had been assured over and over again that 
it was a settled perquisite of his place at the entrance 
of every ambassador. 

She entertained me with all kind of civility till dinner 
came in, which was served, one dish at a time, to a vast 
number, all finely dressed after their manner, which I 
do not think so bad as you have perhaps heard it repre- 
sented. I am a very good judge of their eating, having 
lived three weeks in the house of an effendt at Belgrade, 
who gave us very magnificent dinners, dressed by his 
own cooks, which the first week pleased me extremely; 
but I own I then began to grow weary of it and desired 
our own cook might add a dish or two after our manner. 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 37 

But I attribute this to custom. I am very much in- 
clined to believe an Indian, that had never tasted of 
either, would prefer their cookery to ours. Their sauces 
are very high, all the roast very much done. They use 
a great deal of rich spice. The soup is served for the 
last dish; and they have at least as great variety of ra- 
gouts as we have. I was very sorry I could not eat 
of as many as the good lady would have had me, who was 
very earnest in serving me of every thing. The treat 
concluded with coffee and perfumes, which is a high 
mark of respect; two slaves kneeling censed my hair, 
clothes, and handkerchief. After this ceremony, she 
commanded her slaves to play and dance, which they 
did with their guitars in their hands; and she excused 
to me their want of skill, saying she took no care to ac- 
complish them in that art. 

I returned her thanks, and soon after took my leave. 
I was conducted back in the same manner I entered; 
and would have gone straight to my own house; but 
the Greek lady with me earnestly solicited me to visit 
the kiyayas lady, saying, he was the second officer in 
the empire, and ought indeed to be looked upon as the 
first, the Grand Vizier having only the name, while he 
exercised the authority. I had found so little diversion 
in this harhn, that I had no mind to go into another. 
But her importunity prevailed with me, and I am ex- 
treme glad that I was so complaisant. 

All things here were with quite another air than at the 
Grand Vizier's; and the very house confessed the differ- 
ence between an old devotee and a young beauty. It was 
nicely clean and magnificent. I was met at the door 



38 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 

by two black eunuchs, who led me through a long gallery 
between two ranks of beautiful young girls, with their 
hair finely plaited, almost hanging to their feet, all dressed 
in fine light damasks, brocaded with silver. I was sorry 
that decency did not permit me to stop to consider 
them nearer. But that thought was lost upon my en- 
trance into a large room, or rather pavilion, built round 
with gilded sashes, which were most of them thrown 
up, and the trees planted near them gave an agreeable 
shade, which hindered the sun from being troublesome. 
The jessamines and honeysuckles that twisted round 
their trunks, shed a soft perfume, increased by a white 
marble fountain playing sweet water in the lower part of 
the room, which fell into three or four basins with a 
pleasing sound. The roof was painted with all sorts 
of flowers, falling out of gilded baskets, that seemed tum- 
bling down. On a sofa, raised three steps, and covered 
with fine Persian carpets, sat the ktyayas lady, leaning 
on cushions of white satin, embroidered; and at her 
feet sat two young girls, the eldest about twelve years 
old, lovely as angels, dressed perfectly rich, and almost 
covered with jewels. But they were hardly seen near 
the fair Fatima (for that is her name), so much her beauty 
effaced every thing I have seen, all that has been called 
lovely either in England or Germany, and [I] must own 
that I never saw any thing so gloriously beautiful, nor 
can I recollect a face that would have been taken notice 
of near hers. She stood up to receive me, saluting me 
after their fashion, putting her hand upon her heart 
with a sweetness full of majesty, that no court breeding 
could ever give. She ordered cushions to be given to 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 39 

me, and took care to place me in the corner, which is 
the place of honour. I confess, though the Greek lady 
had before given me a great opinion of her beauty, I 
was so struck with admiration, that I could not for 
some time speak to her, being wholly taken up in gazing. 
That surprising harmony of features! that charming 
result of the whole! that exact proportion of body! 
that lovely bloom of complexion unsullied by art! the 
unutterable enchantment of her smile! — But her eyes! — 
large and black, with all the soft languishment of 
the blue! every turn of her face discovering some new 
charm. 

After my first surprise was over, I endeavored, by 
nicely examining her face, to find out some imperfection, 
without any fruit of my search, but being clearly con- 
vinced of the error of that vulgar notion, that a face 
perfectly regular would not be agreeable; nature having 
done for her with more success, what Apelles is said to 
have essayed, by a collection of the most exact features, 
to form, a perfect face, and to that, a behaviour so full 
of grace and sweetness, such easy motions, with an air 
so majestic, yet free from stiffness or affectation, that 
I am persuaded, could she be suddenly transported 
upon the most polite throne of Europe, nobody would 
think her other than born and bred to be a queen, though 
educated in a country we call barbarous. To say all 
in a word, our most celebrated English beauties would 
vanish near her. 

She was dressed in a caftan of gold brocade, flowered 
with silver, very well fitted to her shape, and showing 
to advantage the beauty of her bosom, only shaded by 



40 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 

the thin gauze of her shift. Her drawers were pale 
pink, green and silver, her sHppers white, finely em- 
broidered: her lovely arms adorned with bracelets of 
diamonds, and her broad girdle set round with diamonds; 
upon her head a rich Turkish handkerchief of pink and 
silver, her own fine black hair hanging a great length 
in various tresses, and on one side of her head some 
bodkins of jewels. I am afraid you will accuse me of 
extravagance in this description. I think I have read 
somewhere that women always speak in rapture when 
they speak of beauty, but I cannot imagine why they 
should not be allowed to do so. I rather think it [a] 
virtue to be able to admire without any mixture of 
desire or envy. The gravest writers have spoken with 
great v/armth of some celebrated pictures and statues. 
The workmanship of Heaven certainly excels all our 
weak imitations, and, I think, has a much better claim 
to our praise. For me, I am not ashamed to own I 
took more pleasure in looking on the beauteous Fatima, 
than the finest piece of sculpture could have given me. 

She told me the two girls at her feet were her daughters, 
though she appeared too young to be their mother. 
Her fair maids were ranged below the sofa, to the number 
of twenty, and put me in mind of the pictures of the 
ancient nymphs. I did not think all nature could have 
furnished such a scene of beauty. She made them a 
sign to play and dance. Four of them immediately 
began to play some soft airs on instruments, between a 
lute and a guitar, which they accompanied with their 
voices, while the others danced by turns. This dance was 
very different from what I had seen before. Nothing 



LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 41 

could be more artful, or more proper to raise certain 
ideas. The tunes so soft! — the motions so languishing! 
— accompanied with pauses and dying eyes! half 
falling back, and then recovering themselves in so artful 
a manner, that I am very positive the coldest and most 
rigid prude upon earth could not have looked upon 
them w^ithout thinking of something not to be spoken 
of. I suppose you may have read that the Turks have 
no music but what is shocking to the ears; but this 
account is from those who never heard any but what is 
played in the streets, and is just as reasonable as if a 
foreigner should take his ideas of the English music 
from the bladder and string, and marrow-bones and 
cleavers. I can assure you that the music is extremely 
pathetic; 'tis true I am inclined to prefer the Italian, 
but perhaps I am partial. I am acquainted with a 
Greek lady who sings better than Mrs. Robinson, and 
is very well skilled in both, who gives the preference 
to the Turkish. 'Tis certain they have very fine natural 
voices; these were very agreeable. When the dance 
was over, four fair slaves came into the room with silver 
censers in their hands, and perfumed the air with amber, 
aloes-wood, and other scents. After this they served 
me coffee upon their knees in the finest japan china, 
with soucoupes of silver, gilt. The lovely Fatima en- 
tertained me all this time in the most polite agreeable 
manner, calling me often Guzel sultanumy or the beautiful 
sultana, and desiring my friendship with the best grace 
in the world, lamenting that she could not entertain me 
in my own language. 
When I took my leave, two maids brought in a fine 



42 LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU 

silver basket of embroidered handkerchiefs; she begged 
I would wear the richest for her sake, and gave the others 
to my woman and interpretess. I retired through the 
same ceremonies as before, and could not help fancying 
I had been some time in Mahomet's paradise, so much 
I was charmed with what I had seen. I know not how 
the relation of it appears to you. I wish it may give 
you part of my pleasure; for I would have my dear 
sister share in all the diversions of, &c. 



MRS. PENDARVES TO MRS. ANN GRAN- 
VILLE 

Dublin, 30 Marchy 1732. 

This has been a week of great mirth and jollity; on 
Monday Phill and I went to the ridotto with Mrs. Wes- 
ley, where we met with no disturbance; it began with a 
concert of music, the Duke, Duchess, and Lady Caroline 
were there; they went away when the music was over, 
and after some hideous minuets, we went to country 
dances. Mr. Wesley was my partner, there were twenty 
couple, four dances were as much as my spirits would 
bear. We got home by a little after twelve. 

On Tuesday we had a party more to my gout. Mr. 
Wesley in the days of yore, (before he had his great 
fortune) had a little house about three miles out of town 

called Butlers Town, the situation of it very fine, 

something like Roskrow, but nearer the sea. It is now 
in possession of a near relation of his, Mr. Kit Ussher, 



MRS. PENDARVES 43 

a very sensible, plain, good humoured man: his wife is 
a poor little meek woman that never makes or mars 
sport. To this place the old jaunting set went about 
two o'clock, where we had cold fowl, Iamb, pigeon pye, 
Dutch beef, tongue, cockells, sallad, much variety of 
liquors, and the finest syllabub that ever was tasted. 
When we had devoured as much as possible, we all 
adjourned to Mr. Wesley's, where I was placed at the 
harpsichord, and after jangling a little, Mr. Wesley took 
the fiddle and played to his daughters' dancing. Those 
children grow prettier and more agreeable every day 
than the other, and remember you very well. We mus- 
tered up five couple and danced two hours; the master 
of house fiddled and danced the whole time; then we 
went to supper, and had a profusion of ''peck and booz"^ 
and extravagance of mirth. We parted at half an hour 
after one. 

MRS. PENDARVES TO MRS. ANN 
GRANVILLE, AT GLOUCESTER 

BULSTRODE, Dec. 29, 1 738. 

Two of your letters are spread before me; but how 
well I shall discharge the debt I cannot guess, for my 
Lord Oxford has lent me some curious drawings of 
Stonehenge^ to copy, that if I don't finish by Monday 

* English slang for "meat and drink." 

* The curious and interesting prehistoric monument near Salisbury, 
England, believed by antiquarians to have been a temple or altar for 
early Druidical religious observances. 



44 MRS. PENDARVES 

next, I shall never more get possession of. They have 
employed me two mornings, and will two mornings more, 
so that my writing-hour is drove down to the evening. 
Well, I must drink CoflFee at five, and play with the little 

jewels it is ceremony of the house: then says the 

Duchess, "Don't go. Penny, till I have net one row in 
my cherry net," which proves a hundred meshes, then 
comes some prater, asks her Grace a question; the arm 
suspended in the air forgets its occupation; she answers, 

and asks some other question in return ten to one 

but a laugh is hatched, and once in a quarter of an hour 
the netting-work is remembered! With patience I 
await her solemn motions, and by half-an-hour after 
six we are in the dressing-room, armed with pen and ink, 
and the fair field prepared to receive the attack. Then 
comes Lady Elizabeth, Lady Harriot, and the noble 
Marquis; after half an hour's jumping, they are dis- 
missed, and we soberly say, "Now we will write our 
letters." In comes the Duke, *'the tea stays for the 
ladies:'' well, we must go, for there's no living at Bul- 
strode without four meals a-day; then when the beaux 
esprits are met, the fumes of inspiring tea begin to oper- 
ate, 'till eight of the clock strikes; then we start up, run 
away, and here I am, brimful of a thousand things to 
say to you, but have no time to write them, and that you 
know is a sad case. You and I perfectly agree in what 
you say of Sir John Stanley and my brother. 

We leave Bulstrode next Saturday se'night; I shall 
sigh when I turn my back upon it, for I have passed my 
time as happily as it is possible for me in your absence. 
'Tis not to be told how many pretty engaging ways our 



MRS. DELANY 45 

dear friend has to gain the love and admiration of those 
she honours with her friendship, and this you well know, 
but I love to repeat it. 

MRS. DELANY TO MRS. DEWES 

Spring Garden, 24th Jan., 1756. 

Many thanks to my dearest sister for her letter of 
the 2ist. I will endeavor to answer all your questions. 
Mrs. Spencer's negligee sleeves are treble; the ruffles 
are much the same as at Bath, long at the elbow and 
pretty narrow at top; I think they pin their gowns rather 
closer before; hoops are as flat as if made of pasteboard, 
and as stiff, the shape sloping from the hip and spread- 
ing at the bottom, enormous but not so ugly as the square 
hoops. There are hopes they will be reduced to a very 
small size, and two very fine fashionable ladies appeared 
at Court with very small ones. Heads are variously 
adorned, pompons with some accompaniment of feathers, 
ribbons or flowers; lappets in all sorts of curli murlis^; 
little plain cypress gauze, trolly or fine muslin; long 
hoods are worn close under the chin tied behind, the 
earrings go round the neck, and tye with bows and ends 
behind. Nightgowns^, worn without hoops; I have seen 
no trollpees^ since I came from the Bath. If you mean to 
communicate this intelligence to your neighbors, I desire 
you will translate it, as the language is known to but few! 

^ Curlicues. 

^ Dressing-gowns. 

^ Loose dresses. 



46 MRS. DELANY 



MRS. DELANY TO MRS. DEWES 

Tuesday. Spring Garden, 17th Jan. 1758. 

Our dear brother is much better, and I hope in a few 
days will be quite well. 

The Duchess of Portland's receipt for a hooping or 
any nervous cough, h" rubbing the palms of the hands, 
soles of the feet, and pit of the stomach with oil of amber 
and hartshorn, an equal quantity, night and morning, 
and the backbone with rum.** 

The Duchess of Portland has had a certain account 
of Lord Titchfield's safe landing, which has made them 
all glad, and yesterday they went to Court in good spirits. 
About mourning: Bombazeens quite plain, broad- 
hemmed muslin, or white crape, that looks like old 
flannell, seven shillings a yard, and won't wash; Tur- 
key gauze is also worn, which is thick and white, but is 
extravagant, as it does not wash, dirties in two days 
and costs 5s. a yard; the mourning will be worn six 
months, three in crape and bombazeen. 



MRS. DELANY TO MRS. DEWES 

Delville, 5 Jan., 1759. 

Tomorrow is post-day, but as I expect a rout of Hamil- 
tons to breakfast, and choose king and queen {an annual 
custom here ever since my possession), I am sure I shall 



MRS. DELANY 47 

have little time for writing. Sally and Miss Hamilton 
are our readers. Dr. Lawson's Treatise on Oratory 
is our present morning book; it is very clear and enter- 
taining. Dr. Lawson is one of the Senior Fellows of 
the College, a very ingenious man and eminent preacher, 
but I fear he is no more; the last account was that the 
physicians had given him over. Have you read the new 
play, Cleone ? It is very touching, and has many pretti- 
nesses in it, but a critic's eye perhaps may see great 
faults: tell me how you like it.? if Dodsley is really 
the author, he is a very extraordinary man. We sepa- 
rate after dinner till tea calls us together at half an 
hour after six, and then Homer's Iliad takes place; 
Miss Hamilton reads the notes and translates all the 
Greek words and passages as she goes along, with so 
much ease that the first day she read (till I looked over 
her and saw the Greek characters) I thought they had 
been all translated! The Dean now makes her read the 
Greek first, and so we have the pleasure of hearing that 
fine-sounding language, not without some mortification 
at not understanding it; she is very bashful and modest 
with her learning, but in some points I believe it has been 
a disadvantage to her, and taken her off from an attention 
to little polishings of behaviour that are very becoming 
to all ages and should not be overlooked. Our present 
works as follows: I am working the cover of a stool, 
Mrs. Hamilton is working a rose in the back of the 
chenille chair, she has already done a marygold and 
convolvulus. I send in the box a cup that was dear Mrs. 
Bushe's, which I am sure you will value, a few ordinary 
shells that I picked up at the Giants' Causeway and 



48 THOMAS GRAY 

Magilligan strand, and the prints of the Giants^ Cause- 
way for Lady Anne Coventry, which I beg her accept- 
ance of. 



THOMAS GRAY TO RICHARD WEST 

Genoa, Nov. 21, 1739. 

Horridos tractus, Boreaeque; linquens 
Regna Taurini fera, moUiorem 
Advehor brumam, Genuaeque; amantes 
Littora soles. 

At least if they do not, they have a very ill taste: for 
I never beheld anything more amiable: Only figure to 
yourself a vast semicircular basin, full of fine blue sea, 
and vessels of all sorts and sizes, some sailing out, some 
coming in, and others at anchor; and all round it palaces, 
and churches peeking over one another's heads, gardens, 
and marble terraces full of orange and cypress trees, 
fountains, and trellis-works covered with vines, which 
altogether compose the grandest of theatres. This is 
the first coup d'oeil, and is almost all I am yet able to 
give you an account of, for we arrived late last night. 
To-day was, luckily, a great festival, and in the morn- 
ing we resorted to the church of the Madonna delle 
Vigne, to put up our little orisons; (I beheve I forgot 
to tell you, that we have been some time converts to 
the holy Catholic church) we found our Lady richly 
dressed out, with a crown of diamonds on her own head. 



THOMAS GRAY 49 

another upon the child's, and a constellation of wax 
lights burning before them: Shortly after came the Doge, 
in his robes of crimson damask, and a cap of the same, 
followed by the Senate in black. Upon his approach 
began a fine concert of music, and among the rest two 
eunuchs' voices, that were a perfect feast to ears that 
had heard nothing but French operas for a year. We 
listened to this, and breathed nothing but incense for 
two hours. The Doge is a very tall, lean, stately, old 
figure, called Constantino Balbi; and the Senate seem 
to have been made upon the same model. They said 
their prayers, and heard an absurd white friar preach, 
with equal devotion. After this we went to the Annon- 
ciata, a church built by the family Lomellini, and be- 
longing to it; which is, indeed, a most stately structure, 
the inside wholly marble of various kinds, except where 
gold and painting take its place. From hence to the 
Palazzo Doria. I should make you sick of marble, if 
I told you how it was lavished here upon the porticoes, 
the balustrades, and terraces, the lowest of which ex- 
tends quite to the sea. The inside is by no means an- 
swerable to the outward magnificence; the furniture 
seems to be as old as the founder of the family. Their 
great embosse'd silver tables tell you, in bas-relief, his 
victories at sea; how he entertained the Emperor Charles, 
and how he refused the sovereignty of the Common- 
wealth when it was offered him; the rest is old-fashioned 
velvet chairs, and gothic tapestry. The rest of the 
day has been spent, much to our hearts' content, in 
cursing French music and architecture, and in singing 
the praises of Italy. We find this place so very fine, 



so THOMAS GRAY 

that we are in fear of finding nothing finer. We are 
fallen in love with the Mediterranean Sea, and hold 
your lakes and your rivers in vast contempt. This is 

'"■The happy country where huge lemons grow," ^ 

as Waller says; and I am sorry to think of leaving it 
in a week for Parma, although it be 

The happy country where huge cheeses grow. 



THOMAS GRAY TO THE REV. 
WILLIAM MASON 

March 28, 1767. 
My Dear Mason: 

I break in upon you at a moment when we least of 
all are permitted to disturb our friends, only to say that 
you are daily and hourly present to my thoughts. If 
the worst be not yet passed, you will neglect and pardon 
me; but if the last struggle be over, if the poor object 
of your long anxieties be no longer sensible to your 
kindness, or to her own sufferings, allow me (at least 
in idea, for what could I do were I present more than 
this), to sit by you in silence, and pity from my heart, 
not her who is at rest, but you who lose her. May He 
who made us, the Master of our pleasures and of our 
pains, preserve and support you. Adieu! 

* Misquoted from Waller's poem, The Battle of the Summer Islands, 
line 6, where the line reads, ''That happy island where huge lemons 
grow." 



DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON 51 



DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON TO LORD 
CHESTERFIELD 



Feb. 7, 1755. 

My Lord, 

I have been lately informed by the proprietor of The 
World that two papers, in which my Dictionary is 
recommended to the public, were written by your lord- 
ship. To be so distinguished, is an honour, which, 
being very little accustomed to favours from the great, 
I know not well how to receive, or in what terms to 
acknowledge. 

When, upon some slight encouragement, I first visited 
your lordship, I was over-powered, like the rest of man- 
kind, by the enchantment of your address, and could 
not forbear to wish that I might boast myself Le vain- 
queur du vainqueur de la terre that I might obtain that 
regard for which I saw the world contending; but I 
found my attendance so little encouraged, that neither 
pride nor modesty would suffer me to continue it. When 
I had once addressed your lordship in public, I had ex- 
hausted all the art of pleasing which a retired and 
uncourtly scholar can possess. I had done all that I 
could; and no man is well pleased to have his all neg- 
lected, be it ever so little. 

Seven years, my lord, have now past, since I waited 
in your outward rooms, or was repulsed from your door; 
during v/hich time I have been pushing on my v7ork 



52 DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON 

through difficulties, of which it is useless to complain, 
and have brought it, at last, to the verge of publication, 
without one act of assistance, one word of encourage- 
ment, or one smile of favour. Such treatment I did not 
expect, for I never had a patron before. 

The shepherd in Virgil grew at last acquainted with 
Love, and found him a native of the rocks. 

Is not a patron, my lord, one who looks with unconcern 
on a man struggling for life in the water, and, when he 
has reached ground, encumbers him with help ? The 
notice which you have been pleased to take of my la- 
bours, had it been early, had been kind; but it has been 
delayed till I am indifferent, and cannot enjoy it; till 
I am solitary, and cannot impart it; till I am known, 
and do not want it. I hope it is no very cynical asperity 
not to confess obligations where no benefit has been 
received, or to be unwilling that the public should con- 
sider me as owing that to a patron, which Providence 
has enabled me to do for myself. 

Having carried on my work thus far with so little 
obligation to any favourer of learning, I shall not be 
disappointed though I should conclude it, if less be 
possible, with less; for I have been long wakened from 
that dream of hope, in which I once boasted myself 
with so much exultation. 

My Lord, 

Your lordship's most humble, 
most obedient servant, 

Sam. Johnson. 



DR. SAMUEL JOHNSON 53 

DR. JOHNSON TO MR. BOSWELL 

London, Dec. 8, 1763. 
Dear Sir, 

You are not to think yourself forgotten, or crimin- 
ally neglected, that you have had yet no letter from me. 
I love to see my friends, to hear from them, to talk to 
them, and to talk of them; but it is not without a con- 
siderable effort of resolution that I prevail upon myself 
to write. I would not, however, gratify my own in- 
dolence by the omission of any important duty, or any 
office of real kindness. 

To tell you that I am or am not well, that I have or 
have not been in the country, that I drank your health 
in the room in which we last sat together, and that your 
acquaintance continue to speak of you with their former 
kindness, topics with which those letters are commonly 
filled which are written only for the sake of writing, 
I seldom shall think worth communicating; but if I 
can have it in my power to calm any harassing disquiet, 
to excite any virtuous desire, to rectify any important 
opinion, or fortify any generous resolution, you need 
not doubt but I shall at least wish to prefer the pleas- 
ure of gratifying a friend much less esteemed than 
yourself, before the gloomy calm of idle vacancy. 
Whether I shall easily arrive at an exact punctuality 
of correspondence, I cannot tell. I shall, at present, 
expect that you will receive this in return for two which 
I have had from you. The first, indeed, gave me an 



54 JAMES BOSWELL 

account so hopeless of the state of your mind, that it 
hardly admitted or deserved an answer; by the second 
I was much better pleased; and the pleasure will still 
be increased by such a narrative of the progress of your 
studies, as may evince the continuance of an equal 
and rational application of your mind to some useful 

inquiry 

Let me have a long letter from you as soon as you can. 
I hope you continue your journal, and enrich it with 
many observations upon the country in which you re- 
side. It will be a favour if you can get me any books 
in the Frisick language, and can inquire how the poor 
are maintained in the Seven Provinces. I am, dear 
sir, your most affectionate servant, 

Sam. Johnson. 



JAMES BOSWELL TO SAMUEL JOHN- 
SON 

Sunday, September 30, 1764. 

My Ever Dear and Much-respected Sir, — 

You know my solemn enthusiasm of mind. You 
love me for it, and I respect myself for it, because in 
so far I resemble Mr. Johnson. You will be agreeably 
surprised, when you learn the reason of my writing this 
letter. I am at Wittenberg in Saxony. I am in the 
old church where the Reformation was first preached, 
and where some of the Reformers lie interred. I cannot 
resist the serious pleasure of writing to Mr. Johnson 



MR. CRISP 55 

from the tomb of Melancthon. My paper rests upon 
the grave-stone of that great and good man, who was 
undoubtedly the worthiest of all the reformers. He 
wished to reform the abuses which had been introduced 
into the Church; but had no private resentment to 
gratify. So mild was he, that when his aged mother 
consulted him with anxiety on the perplexing disputes 
of the times, he advised her to ''keep to the old religion". 
At this tomb, then, my ever dear and respected friend! 
I vow to thee an eternal attachment. It shall be my study 
to do what I can to render your life happy: and if you 
die before me, I shall endeavour to do honour to your 
memory; and, elevated by the remembrance of you, 
persist in noble piety. May God, the father of all 
beings, ever bless you! and may you continue to love 
your most affectionate friend, and devoted servant, 

James Boswell. 



MR. CRISP TO MISS BURNEY 

i^773) 
My Dear Fanny, 

In consequence of our agreement, I shall now begin 
with an instance of the most pure and genuine sincerity, 
when I declare to you that I was delighted with your 
letter throughout, — a proof of which (that perhaps you 
would have excused) is this immediate answer with a 
demand for more — The horseleech hath two daughters, 
saith the wise man, saying, "Give! Give!" — I find my- 
self nearly related to them on this occasion. I profess 



56 MR. CRISP 

there is not a single word or expression or thought in 
your whole letter, that I do not relish, — not that in your 
Correspondence I shall set up for a Critic or School- 
master or observer of composition — the deuce take them 
all! I hate them. If once you set about framing studied 
letters, that are to be correct, nicely grammatical, and 
run in smooth periods, I shall mind them no other- 
wise than as newspapers of intelligence. I make this 
preface, because you have needlessly enjoined me to 
deal sincerely, and to tell you of your faults; and so let 
this declaration serve to tell you once for all, that there 
is no fault in an epistolary correspondence like stiffness 
and study. Dash away whatever comes uppermost; 
the sudden sallies of imagination, clapped down on paper, 
just as they arise, are worth folios, and have all the 
warmth and merit of that sort of nonsense that is elo- 
quent in love. Never think of being correct when you 
write to me. So I conclude this topic, and proceed to 
be sorry and glad that you and your Mammy have been 
ill and are better. Your Dr. Fothergill I am well ac- 
quainted with by character, and pronounce you a very 
able portrait painter. I find he has taken to you, and 
I observe we old fellows are inclinable to be very fond 
of you. You'll say, "What care I for old fellows .? 
give me a young one!" Well; we don't hinder you 
of young ones; and we judge more coolly and disinter- 
estedly than they do; so don't turn up your nose even 
at our approbation. 

Now, Fanny, I do by no means allow of your re-con- 
sideration and revocation of your Tingmouth Journal; 
on the contrary, I demand it, and claim your promise, 



MISS BURNEY 57 

and confirm my own, viz.; to return it safe to Charly 
Burney's, well and carefully sealed up, and the con- 
tents lodged in my own snowy bosom. Your pleas, 
frivolous ones they are; and I reject them all 



MISS BURNEY TO MR. CRISP 

(1776) 
My Dear Daddy, — 

I long to hear if you have got, and how you like the 
books. I would have sent Montaigne, but was afraid 
the parcel would have been too heavy to be safe only 
packed in paper, so they must wait till the next opportu- 
nity. 

Our visit to Mrs. Ord proved very agreeable. The 
party was small, but select; consisting of Dr. Russel, 
who I have mentioned at one of our Concerts; Mr. 
Pepys, a man who, to the most fashionable air, dress, 
and address, adds great shrewdness, and drollery; Mr. 
Burrows, a clergyman who is a ivit, in a peculiar style, 
choosing to aim all his fire at the Ton, in which he some- 
times succeeds very well; Mr. Wright, a stupid man, 
but one who was so obliging as to be generally silent; 
his wife, who did not make him blush by her superior- 
ity; Miss Wright, who is rather pretty, and very sensible 
and agreeable; Mr. Ord, the eldest hope of the family, 
who is an exceedingly handsome youth, and seems good 
natured and all that; Dr. Mrs. and F. and S. Burney. 

O but, I should have first mentioned Mrs. Smith, 
who you may perhaps formerly have known, as she v/as 



58 MISS BURNEY 

an intimate friend of Mrs. Greville's. She is very little, 
ugly, and terribly deformed; but she is quick, clever, 
and entertaining. 

Mrs. Ord herself is almost the best mistress of a family 
I ever saw; she is so easy, so cheerfully polite, that it 
is not possible for a guest in her house to feel the least 
restraint. She banishes all ceremony and formality, 
and made us all draw our chairs about the table, which 
she kept in the middle of the room, and called the best 
friend to sociable conversation. 

We stayed till near eleven o'clock, and had neither 
cards, music or dancing. It was a true conversattone. 
Everybody went away well satisfied, and returning thanks 
to Mrs. Ord for having been admitted to the party. 
My attention was given too generally and indiscriminately 
to all sides, to enable me to write you any of the con- 
versation, which I would otherwise do. 

Mr. Bruce had a bad cold, and was not there. When 
we took leave, my father told Mrs. Ord that it gave him 
great pleasure to say, that he knew two or three houses 
even in these times, where company could be enter- 
tained and got together merely by conversation, un- 
assisted by cards, etc. 

"Such parties as Mrs. Ord collects," said Mrs. Smith, 
"cannot /a// in regard to entertainment." "And yet," 
answered Mr. Pepys, "I have known meetings where 
equal pleasure has been proposed and expected, and 
where the ingredients have been equally good, and yet 
the pudding has proved very bad." 

"True," returned my father, "for if the ingredients 
are not well mixed, their separate goodness does not 



MISS BURNEY 59 

signify; for if one is a little too sour, and another a 
little too sweet, or too bitter, they counteract each 
other: But Mrs. Ord is an excellent cook, and takes 
care not to put clashing materials into one mess." 

Mr. Burney, Hetty and I took a walk in the Park 
on Sunday morning, where among others, we saw the 
young and handsome Duchess of Devonshire, walk- 
ing in such an undressed and slatternly manner, as, in 
former times, Mrs. Rishton might have done in Chesing- 
ton Garden. Two of her curls came quite unpinned, 
and fell lank on one of her shoulders; one shoe was 
down at heel, the trimming of her jacket and coat was 
in some places unsewn; her cap was awry; and her 
cloak which was rusty and powdered, was flung half 
on and half off. Had she not had a servant in a superb 
livery behind her, she would certainly have been affronted. 
Every creature turned back to stare at her. Indeed I 
think her very handsome, and she has a look of innocence 
and artlessness that made me quite sorry she should 
be so foolishly negligent of her person. She had hold 
of the Duke's arm, who is the very reverse of herself, 
for he is ugly, tidy, and grave. He looks like a very mean 
shopkeeper's journeyman 

My dearest Sir, 

Your ever affec^^. 

F. B. 



60 GENERAL WASHINGTON 

GENERAL WASHINGTON TO COLONEL 
LEWIS NICOLA 

Newburg, 22 Mayy 1 782. 

Sir, 

With a mixture of great surprise and astonishment, 
I have read with attention the sentiments you have sub- 
mitted to my perusal. Be assured, Sir, no occurrence 
in the course of the war has given me more painful 
sensations, than your information of there being such 
ideas existing in the army, as you have expressed, and 
I must view with abhorrence and reprehend with severity. 
For the present the communication of them will rest in 
my own bosom, unless some further agitation of the 
matter shall make a disclosure necessary. 

I am much at a loss to conceive what part of my con- 
duct could have given encouragement to an address, 
which to me seems big with the greatest mischiefs, that 
can befall my country. If I am not deceived in the 
knowledge of myself, you could not have found a person 
to whom your schemes are more disagreeable. At the 
same time, in justice to my own feelings, I must add, 
that no man possesses a more sincere wish to see ample 
justice done to the army than I do; and, as far as my 
powers and influence, in a constitutional way, extend, 
they shall be employed to the utmost of my abilities to 
effect it, should there be any occasion. Let me conjure 
you, then, if you have any regard for your country, 
concern for yourself or posterity, or respect for me, to 



WILLIAM COWPER 61 

banish these thoughts from your mind, and never com- 
municate, as from yourself or any one else, a senti- 
ment of the like nature. 

I am, Sir, your most obedient servant 
George Washington. 



WILLIAM COWPER TO THE REV. 
JOHN NEWTON 

(Olney), March 29, 1 784. 

It being his Majesty's pleasure that I should yet have 
another opportunity to write before he dissolves the 
Parliament, I avail myself of it with all possible alacrity. 
I thank you for your last, which was not the less welcome 
for coming, like an extraordinary gazette, at a time when 
it was not expected. 

As when the sea is uncommonly agitated, the water 
finds its way into creeks and holes of rocks, which in 
its calmer state it never reaches, in like manner the effect 
of these turbulent times is felt even at Orchardside, 
where in general we live as undisturbed by the political 
element as shrimps or cockles that have been accidentally 
deposited in some hollow beyond the water mark, by 
the usual dashing of the waves. We were sitting yester- 
day after dinner, the two ladies and myself, very com- 
posedly, and without the least apprehension of any such 
intrusion in our snug parlor, one lady knitting, the other 
netting, and the gentleman winding worsted, when, to 
our unspeakable surprise a mob appeared before the 



62 WILLIAM COWPER 

window; a smart rap was heard at the door, the boys 
hallooed, and the maid announced Mr. Granville. Puss 
was unfortunately let out of her box, so that the candi- 
date, with all his good friends at his heels, was refused 
admittance at the grand entry, and referred to the back 
door, as the only possible way of approach. 

Candidates are creatures not very susceptible of 
affronts, and would rather, I suppose, climb in at the 
window, than be absolutely excluded. In a minute 
the yard, the kitchen, and the parlor, were filled. Mr. 
Grenville, advancing toward me, shook me by the hand 
with a degree of cordiality that was extremely seducing. 
As soon as he and as many as could find chairs were 
seated, he began to open the intent of his visit. I told 
him I had no vote, for which he readily gave me credit. 
I assured him I had no influence, which he was not 
equally inclined to believe, and the less, no doubt, be- 
cause Mr. Ashburner, the draper, addressing himself 
to me at this moment, informed me that I had a great 
deal. Supposing that I could not be possessed of such 
a treasure without knowing it, I ventured to confirm 
my first assertion, by saying, that if I had any, I was 
utterly at a loss to imagine where it could be, or wherein 
it consisted. Thus ended the conference. Mr. Gren- 
ville squeezed me by the hand again, kissed the ladies, 
and withdrew. He kissed likewise the maid in the 
kitchen, and seemed upon the whole a most loving, kiss- 
ing, kind-hearted gentleman. He is very young, genteel, 
and handsome. He has a pair of very good eyes in his 
head, which not being suflEicient as it would seem for 
the many nice and difficult purposes of a senator, he 



WILLIAM COWPER 63 

has a third also, which he wore suspended by a riband 
from his button hole. The boys hallooed, the dogs 
barked, puss scampered, the hero, with his long train 
of obsequious followers, withdrew. We made our- 
selves very merry with the adventure, and in a short 
time settled into our former tranquillity, never probably 
to be thus interrupted more. I thought myself, however, 
happy in being able to affirm truly that I had not that 
influence for which he sued; and which, had I been 
possessed of it, with my present views of the dispute 
between the Crown and the Commons^ I must have 
refused him, for he is on the side of the former. It is 
comfortable to be of no consequence in a world where 
one cannot exercise any without disobliging somebody. 
The town, however, seems to be much at his service, 
and if he be equally successful throughout the county, 
he will undoubtedly gain his election. Mr. Ashburner 
perhaps was a little mortified, because it was evident 
that I owed the honor of this visit to his misrepresenta- 
tion of my importance. But had he thought proper 
to assure Mr. Grenville that I had three heads, I should 
not I suppose have been bound to produce them. 

Mr. Scott, who you say was so much admired in your 
pulpit, would be equally admired in his own, at least 
by all capable judges, were he not so apt to be angry 
with his congregation. This hurts him, and had he 
the understanding and the eloquence of Paul himself, 
would still hurt him. He seldom, hardly ever, indeed, 
preaches a gentle, well-tempered sermon, but I hear it 

^ The contest between Pitt, the younger (representing the Com- 
mons), and George III, regarding Parliamentary Reforms. 



64 WILLIAM COWPER 

highly commended: but warmth of temper, indulged 
to a degree that may be called scolding, defeats the end 
of preaching. It is . a misapplication of his powers, 
which it also cripples, and teases away his hearers. But 
he is a good man, and may perhaps outgrow it. 

Many thanks for the worsted, which is excellent. 
We are as well as a spring hardly less severe than the 
severest winter will give us leave to be. With our united 
love, we conclude ourselves yours and Mrs. Newton's 
affectionate and faithful, 

w. c. 



WILLIAM COWPER TO WILLIAM 
HAYLEY 

Weston, Feh. 24, 1793. 

.... Oh! you rogue! what would you give to have 
such a dream about Milton as I had about a week since ? 
I dreamed that being in a house in the city, and with 
much company, looking towards the lower end of the 
room from the upper end of it, I descried a figure, which 
I immediately knew to be Milton's. He was very gravely, 
but very neatly attired in the fashion of his day, and had 
a countenance which filled me with those feelings that 
an affectionate child has for a beloved father, such, 
for instance, as Tom has for you. My first thought was 
wonder, where he could have been concealed so many 
years; my second, a transport of joy to find him still 
alive; my third, another transport of joy to find myself 



WILLIAM COWPER 65 

in his company; and my fourth, a resolution to accost 
him. I did so, and he received me with a complacence, 
in which I saw equal sweetness and dignity. I spoke 
of his Paradise Lost, as every man must who is worthy 
to speak of it at all, and told him a long story of the 
manner in which it affected me, when I first discovered 
it, being at that time a schoolboy. He answered me 
by a smile and a gentle inclination of his head. He then 
grasped my hand affectionately, and with a smile that 
charmed me said, "Well, you for your part will do well 
also;*' at last, recollecting his great age (for I under- 
stood him to be two hundred years old), I feared that 
I might fatigue him by much talking; I took my leave, 
and he took his, with an air of the most perfect breed- 
ing. His person, his features, his manner, were all so 
perfectly characteristic, that I am persuaded an appari- 
tion of him could not represent him more completely. 
This may be said to have been one of the dreams of 
Pindus\ may it not .? .... With Mary's kind love, 
I must now conclude myself. 

My dear brother, ever yours, 

Lippus. 



ROBERT BURNS TO MRS. DUNLOP 

Ellisland, New-year-day Morning, 1789. 

This, dear Madam, is a morning of wishes, and would 
to God that I came under the Apostle James's descrip- 

^ A lofty mountain in Thessaly, the seat of the Muses. 



66 ROBERT BURNS 

tion! — the prayer of a righteous man availeth much. 
In that case, Madam, you should welcome in a year full 
of blessings: everything that obstructs or disturbs tran- 
quillity and self-enjoyment should be removed, and every 
pleasure that frail humanity can taste, should be yours. 
I own myself so little a Presbyterian, that I approve of 
set times and seasons of more than ordinary acts of 
devotion, for breaking in on that habituated routine 
of life and thought, which is so apt to reduce our exis- 
tence to a kind of instinct, or even sometimes, and with 
some minds, to a state very little superior to mere ma- 
chinery. 

This day; the first Sunday of May; a breezy blue- 
skyed noon some time about the beginning, and a hoary 
morning and calm sunny day about the end of autumn; 
these, time out of mind, have been with me a kind of 
holiday. 

I believe I owe this to that glorious paper in the Spec- 
tator y "The Vision of Mirza", a piece that struck my 
young fancy before I was capable of fixing an idea to 
a word of three syllables: "On the fifth day of the moon, 
which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I 
always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered 
up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hill of 
Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day in medita- 
tion and prayer." 

We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the substance 
or structure of our souls, so cannot account for those 
seeming caprices in them, that one should be particularly 
pleased with this thing, or struck with that, which, on 
minds of a different cast, makes no extraordinary im- 



ROBERT BURNS 67 

pression. I have some favorite flowers in spring, among 
which are the mountain-daisy, the hare-bell, the fox- 
glove, the wild brier-rose, the budding birch, and the 
hoary hawthorn, that I view and hang over with par- 
ticular delight. I never hear the loud, solitary whistle 
of the curlew in a summer noon, or the wild mixing ca- 
dence of a troop of grey plovers, in an autumnal morning 
without feeling an elevation of soul like the enthusiasm 
of devotion or poetry. Tell me, my dear friend, to 
what can this be owing .? Are we a piece of machinery, 
which, like the iEolian harp, passive, takes the impres- 
sion of the passing accident ? Or do these workings argue 
something within us above the trodden clod ? I own 
myself partial to such proofs of those awful and important 
realities — a God that made all things — man's imma- 
terial and immortal nature — and a world of weal or 
woe beyond death and the grave. 

R. B. 



ROBERT BURNS TO MR. CUNNINGHAM 

Ellisland, 4th May, 1789. 
My Dear Sir, — 

Your duty-free favor of the 25th April I received two 
days ago; I will not say I perused it with pleasure; 
that is the cold compliment of ceremony; I perused it, 
Sir, with delicious satisfaction; — in short, it is such a 
letter, that not you, nor your friend, but the legislature, 
by express proviso in their postage laws, should frank. 



68 ROBERT BURNS 

A letter informed with the soul of friendship is such an 
honour to human nature, that they should order it free 
ingress and egress to and from their bags and mails, 
as an encouragement and mark of distinction to super- 
eminent virtue. 

I have just put the last hand to a little poem^, which 
I think will be something to your taste. One morning 
lately, as I was out pretty early in the fields, sowing 
some grass seeds, I heard the burst of a shot from a 
neighboring plantation, and presently a poor little 
wounded hare came crippling by me. You will guess 
my indignation at the inhuman fellow who could shoot 
a hare at this season when all of them have young ones. 
Indeed there is something in that business of destroying, 
for our sport, individuals in the animal creation that 
do not injure us materially, which I could never reconcile 
to my ideas of virtue. 

Let me know how you like my poem. I am doubtful 
whether it would not be an improvement to keep out 
the last stanza but one altogether. 

CruikshanP is a glorious production of the author 
of man. You, he, and the noble Colonel of the Cro- 
challan Fencibles are to me 

Dear as the ruddy drops which warm my heart. 
I have got a good mind to make verses on you all, 
to the tune of ''Three guid fellows ayont the glen.'* 

R. B. 

' The Wounded Hare. 

^ The famous English caricaturist, 1792-1878, who illustrated parts 
of the works of both Scott and Dickens. 



DOROTHY WORDSWORTH 69 

DOROTHY WORDSWORTH TO JANE 
POLLARD 

FORNCETT, (1793). 

The evening is a lovely one, and I have strolled into 
a neighboring meadow, w^here I am enjoying the melody 
of birds, and the busy sounds of a fine summer's evening, 
while my eye is gratified by a smiling prospect of culti- 
vated fields richly wooded, our own church, and the 
parsonage house; but oh! how imperfect is my pleasure. 

I am alone I hear you pointed out a spot where, 

if we could erect a little cottage and call it our ov^n, we 
could be the happiest of human beings. I see my 
brother (William) fired with the idea of leading his 
sister to such a retreat as I fancy, ever ready at our call, 
hastening to assist us in painting. Our parlour is in a 
moment furnished; our garden is adorned by magic; 
the roses and the honeysuckle spring at our command; 
the wood behind the house at once lifts its head, furnish- 
ing us with a winter shelter and a summer noonday 
shade 

WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO LADY 
BEAUMONT 

Grasmere, Tuesday, June 3^, (1806 ?). 
My Dear Lady Beaumont, 

I arrived at happy Grasmere Sunday before last, 
i.e. ten days ago, so that you see I have taken time to 



70 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

breathe before I informed you how I sped; but I know 
I have an unlimited indulgence from you and Sir George 
in these respects. I found every body well, little Dorothy' 
the most altered, — I ought to say improved, — for she 
is grown the most delightful chatterer ever seen; 
all acquired in two months; nor is it the least of her 
recommendations that she is more delighted with me 
than with a new toy, and is never easy, if in my sight, 
when out of my arms. 

Since I reached home I have passed the chief part of 
my time out of doors, much of it in the wood by the 
lakeside, a spot which you would love. The Muses, 
without any wooing on my part, came to me there one 
morning and murmured a few verses, in which I did 
not forget Grosvenor Square, as you will know if I 
ever take up the strain again, for it is not finished. We 
have had a great deal of talk about your summer visit, 
and we cannot satisfy ourselves entirely about the inn; 
we have fears concerning the sitting-room which, having 
no prospect, you would find dull. There is a small 
cottage close to the lake with two pleasant sitting-rooms 
that look upon it, under and between two very respectable 
pollard oaks, and these two rooms are charming in 
summer; but then the house is ill-provided with bed- 
rooms; but my sister shall describe it for you, and you 
shall judge. 

I have received a very obliging letter from Mr. Price, 
who seems much pleased with what I said upon the 
Sublime. He speaks in warm terms of Sir George, and 
the many obligations he has to his friendship, and is 

' Wordsworth's daughter. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 71 

kind enough to invite me to Foxley, holding out the 
inducement of the neighbouring scenery of the Wye. 

I shall write to Sir George in a short time; meanwhile 
you will remember me most affectionately to him. 
And believe me, my dear Lady Beaumont, most sensible 
of your goodness, most happy in possessing your friend- 
ship, and now faithfully yours, 

Wm. Wordsworth. 



WILLIAM WORDSWORTH TO DANIEL 
STUART 

Rydal Mount, March, 1818. 
Dear Sir, 

.... The sum of my opinion is that, if I had strong 
reasons for believing my son would apply to the law, I 
should send him to college at seventeen. If I thought 
he must be obliged to take up with the Church, I should 
not send him till nineteen, unless I knew that he was so 
far advanced in his studies as to encourage a strong per- 
suasion in me that he would distinguish himself, even 
if sent at seventeen. As to his college, the advantages 
of a large college are, that he may choose his company, 
and is more likely to be roused by emulation; and the 
public lectures are more likely to be good, and every- 
thing carried forward with more spirit. The disad- 
vantages are that, seeing so many clever men and able 
scholars, he may be disheartened, and throw up in disgust 



72 JANE AUSTEN 

or despair. Also, much more distinction is required 
to obtain a fellowship among so many competitors. 
But it very often happens that distinguished men edu- 
cated in large colleges, when there are not fellowships 
for them there are elected into small colleges, which hap- 
pen to be destitute of persons properly qualified. The 
chief advantages in a small college are the much greater 
likelihood of procuring rooms, and, in the end, college 
patronage; but there is danger of getting into lounging 
ways from being forced among idle people, and the public 

lectures are rarely carried on with such spirit 

But there cannot be a doubt but that the noblest field 
for an ambitious, industrious, properly qualified, and 

clever youth is Trinity College 

Ever yours, 

W. W. 



JANE AUSTEN TO HER SISTER 

Steventon; Thursday {January l6, 1796). 

I have just received yours and Mary's letter, and I 
thank you both, though their contents might have been 
more agreeable. I do not at all expect to see you on 
Tuesday, since matters have fallen out so unpleasantly; 
and if you are not able to return until after that day, it 
will hardly be possible for us to send for you before 
Saturday, though for my own part I care so little about 
the ball that it would be no sacrifice to me to give it up for 
the sake of seeing you two days earlier. We are extremely 



JANE AUSTEN 73 

sorry for poor Eliza's illness. I trust, however, that 
she has continued to recover since you wrote, and that 
you will none of you be the worse for your attendance 
on her. What a good-for-nothing fellow Charles is 
to bespeak the stockings! I hope he will be too hot all 
the rest of his life for it! 

I sent you a letter yesterday to Ibthorp, which I sup- 
pose you will not receive at Kintbury. It was not very 
long or very witty, and therefore if you never receive 
it, it does not much signify. I wrote principally to tell 
you that the Coopers were arrived and in good health. 
The little boy is very like Dr. Cooper, and the little girl 
is to resemble Jane, they say. 

Our party to Ashe to-morrow night will consist of 
Edward Cooper, James (for a ball is nothing without 
him). Duller, who is now staying with us, and I. I look 
forward with great impatience to it, as I rather expect 
to receive an offer from my friend in the course of the 
evening. I shall refuse him, however, unless he promises 
to give away his white coat. 

I am very much flattered by your commendation of 
my last letter, for I write only for fame, and without any 
view to pecuniary emolument. 

Edward is gone to spend the day with his friend, John 
Lyford, and does not return until to-morrow. Anna 
is now here; she came up in her chaise to spend the day 
with her young cousins, but she does not much take to 
them or to anything about them, except Caroline's spin- 
ning-wheel. I am very glad to find from Mary that 
Mr. and Mrs. Fowle are pleased with you. I hope you 
will continue to give satisfaction. 



74 JANE AUSTEN 

How impertinent you are to write to me about Tom, 
as if I had not opportunities of hearing from him myself! 
The last letter that I received from him was dated on Fri- 
day, 8th, and he told me that if the wind should be favor- 
able on Sunday, which it proved to be, they were to sail 
from Falmouth on that day. By this time, therefore, 
they are at Barbadoes, I suppose. The Rivers are still 
at Manydown, and are to be at Ashe to-morrow. I 
intended to call on the Miss Biggs yesterday had the 
weather been tolerable. Caroline, Anna, and I have just 
been devouring some cold souse, and it would be difficult 
to say which enjoyed it most. 

Tell Mary that I make over Mr. Heartley and all his 
estate to her for her sole use and benefit in future, and not 
only him, but all my other admirers into the bargain 
wherever she can find them, even the kiss which C. Pow- 
lett wanted to give me, as I mean to confine myself in 
future to Mr. Tom Lefroy, for whom I don't care six- 
pence. Assure her also, as a last and indubitable proof 
of Warren's indifference to me, that he actually drew 
that gentleman's picture for me, and delivered it to me 
without a sigh. 

Friday. — At length the day is come on which I am to 
flirt my last with Tom Lefroy, and when you receive 
this it will be over. My tears flow as I write at the 
melancholy idea. Wm. Chute called here yesterday. 
I wonder what he means by being so civil. There is a 
report that Tom is going to be married to a Lichfield 
lass. John Lyford and his sister bring Edward home 
to-day, dine with us, and we shall all go together to Ashe. 
I understand that we are to draw for partners. I shall 



JANE AUSTEN 75 

be extremely impatient to hear from you again, that I 

may know how EHza is, and when you are to return. 

With best love, etc., I am affectionately yours, 

J. Austen. 
Miss Austen, 

The Rev. Mr. Fowle's, Kintbury, Newbury. 



JANE AUSTEN TO J. S. CLARKE 

My Dear Sir,— 

I am honored by the Prince's thanks, and very much 
obhged to yourself for the kind manner in which you 
mention the work. I have also to acknowledge a former 
letter forwarded to me from Hans Place. I assure you 
I felt very grateful for the friendly tenor of it, and hope 
my silence will have been considered, as it was truly 
meant, to proceed only from an unwillingness to tax 
your time with idle thanks. Under every interesting 
circumstance which your own talents and literary labors 
have placed you in, or the favor of the Regent bestowed, 
you have my best wishes. Your recent appointments, I 
hope, are a step to something still better. In my opinion, 
the service of a court can hardly be too well paid, for 
immense must be the sacrifice of time and feeling re- 
quired by it. 

You are very kind in your hints as to the sort of com- 
position which might recommend me at present, and I 
am fully sensible that an historical romance, founded 
on the House of Saxe Cobourg, might be much more 
to the purpose of profit or popularity than such pictures 



76 JOHN ADAMS 

of domestic life in country villages as I deal in. But I 
could no more write a romance than an epic poem. I 
could not sit seriously down to write a serious romance 
under any other motive than to save my life; and if 
it were indispensable for me to keep it up, and never 
relax into laughing at myself or at other people, I am 
sure I should be hung before I had finished the first 
chapter. No, I must keep to my own style and go on 
in my own way; and though I may never succeed again 
in that, I am convinced that I should totally fail in any 
other. 

I remain, my dear Sir, 
Your very much obliged and sincere friend, 

J. Austen. 
Chawton, near Alton, April i, 1816. 



JOHN ADAMS TO HIS WIFE 

Philadelphia, 4 February, 1797. 

My Dearest Friend, 

I hope you will not communicate to anybody the 
hints I give you about our prospects; but they appear 
every day worse and worse. House rent at twenty- 
seven hundred dollars a year, fifteen hundred dollars 
for a carriage, one thousand for one pair of horses, all 
the glasses, ornaments, kitchen furniture, the best 
chairs, settees, plateaus, &c., all to purchase, all the 
china, delph or wedgewood, glass and crockery of every 
sort to purchase, and not a farthing probably will the 



JOHN ADAMS 77 

House of Representatives allow, though the Senate 
have voted a small addition. All the linen besides. I 
shall not pretend to keep more than one pair of horses 
for a carriage, and one for a saddle. Secretaries, ser- 
vants, w^ood, charities which are demanded as rights, 
and the million dittoes present such a prospect as is 
enough to disgust anyone. Yet not one word must we 
say. 

We cannot go back. We must stand our ground as 
long as we can. Dispose of our places with the help 
of our friend Dr. Tufts, as well as you can. We are 
impatient for news, but that is always so at this season. 
I am tenderly your 

J. A. 

JOHN ADAMS TO HIS WIFE 

Philadelphia, 5 Marchy 1797. 

My Dearest Friend, Your dearest friend never had 
a more trying day than yesterday. A solemn scene it 
was indeed, and it was made more affecting to me by 
the presence of the General (Washington), whose coun- 
tenance was as serene and unclouded as the day. He 
seemed to me to enjoy a triumph over me. Methought 
I heard him say, "Ay! I am fairly out and you fairly in! 
See which of us will be happiest." When the ceremony 
was over, he came and made me a visit, and cordially 
congratulated me, and wished my administration might 
be happy, successful, and honorable. 

It is now settled that I am to go into his house. It 



78 JOHN ADAMS 

is whispered that he intends to take French leave to- 
morrow. I shall write to you as fast as we proceed. 
My chariot is finished, and I made my first appearance 
in it yesterday. It is simple but elegant enough. My 
horses are young, but clever. 

In the chamber of the House of Representatives was 
a multitude as great as the space could contain, and I 
believe scarcely a dry eye but Washington's. The sight 
of the sun setting full orbed, and another rising, though 
less splendid, was a novelty. Chief Justice Ellsworth 
administered the oath, and with great energy. Judges 
Gushing, Wilson, and Iredell, were present. Many 
ladies. I had not slept well the night before, and did 
not sleep well the night after. I was unwell, and did 
not know whether I should get through or not. I did, 
however. How the business was received, I know not, 
only I have been told that Mason, the treaty publisher, 
said we should lose nothing by the change, for he never 
heard such a speech in public in his life. 

All agree that, taken altogether, it was the sublimest 
thing ever exhibited in America. 

I am, my dearest friend, most affectionately and 
kindly yours, John Adams. 

LORD JEFFREY TO MR. ROBERT 
MOREHEAD 

Edinburgh, 6th August, 1798. 

Well, I owe you a letter, I suppose, Bobby. And 
what then .? That may be many an honest man's case 



LORD JEFFREY 79 

as well as mine; and there may be apologies, I suppose, 
and whys and wherefores, of which you know nothing, 
nor I neither. I will make you no apology. I have 
forgiven you ten letters in my time, and wrote on without 
calculating the amount of my debt, &. Why do I 
write you this, Bobby ? or why, in my present humour, 
do I write you at all ? Principally, I believe, to tell 
you that I expect very soon to see you, and to tell you 
that there is no person whom I think of seeing with 
greater pleasure, or toward whom it would be more 
unjust to suspect me of forgetfulness or unkindness. I 
have said very soon, but I do not mean immediately — 
two lines will tell you the whole. Dr. Thomas Brown 
and I (your brother John will join us, I believe) propose 
to set out about the end of this month, and to travel 
in your track (only reversedly) through Cumberland 
and Wales, till we fall in with you at Oxford, or some- 
where else, on our way to London. What, my dear 
Bobby, are we turning into ? I grow, it appears to 
myself, dismally stupid and inactive. I lose all my 
originalities, and ecstacies, and romance, and am far 
advanced already upon that dirty highway called the 
way of the world. I have a kind of unmeaning gayety 
that is fatiguing and unsatisfactory, even to myself; 
and though, in the brilliancy of this sarcastic humour, I 
can ridicule my former dispositions with admirable 
success, yet I regret the loss of them much more feelingly, 
and really begin to suspect that the reason and gross 
common sense by which I now profess to estimate 
everything, is just as much a vanity and delusion as 
any of the fantasies it judges of. This at least I am 



80 LORD JEFFREY 

sure of, that these poetic visions bestowed a much purer 
and more tranquil happiness than can be found in any 
of the tumultuous and pedantic triumphs that seem 
now within my reach; and that I was more amiable, and 
quite as respectable, before this change took place in 
my character. I shall never arrive at any eminence 
either in this new character; and have glimpses and 
retrospective snatches of my former self, so frequent and 
so lively, that I shall never be wholly estranged from 
it, nor more than half the thing I seem to be driving at. 
Within these few days I have been more perfectly re- 
stored to my poesies and sentimentalities than I had 
been for many months before. I walk out every day 
alone, and as I wander by the sunny sea, or over the 
green and solitary rocks of Arthur's Seat^, I feel as if 
I had escaped from the scenes of impertinence on which 
I had been compelled to act, and recollect, with some 
degree of my old enthusiasm, the wild walks and eager 
conversation we used to take together at Herbertshire 
about four years ago. I am still capable, I feel, of 
going back to these feelings, and would seek my happi- 
ness, I think, in their indulgence, if my circumstances 
would let me. As it is I believe I shall go on sophis- 
ticating and perverting myself till I become absolutely 
good for nothing, &. 

Truly and affectionately yours. 



* A high hill on the eastern side of Edinburgh named for the "blame- 
less king" of the Round Table. Cf. Tennyson's The Coming of 
Arthur in the Idyls of the King. 



LORD JEFFREY 81 



LORD JEFFREY TO MR. JOHN 
JEFFREY 

St. Andrews, ist. August, 1801. 
My Dear John, — 

If you have got any of my last letters you will not be 
surprised to see me here. I am not going to be married 
yet, however, and shall write you another or two from 
Edinburgh, I am afraid, before I have that news to 
communicate. Before the month of November, how- 
ever, I hope to have renounced all the iniquities and 
unhappinesses of a bachelor, and to be deeply skilled 
in all the comforts of matrimony before the end of the 
year. I enter upon the new life with a great deal of 
faith, love, and fortitude; and not without a reasonable 
proportion of apprehension and anxiety. I never 
feared anything for myself, and the excessive carelessness 
with which I used to look forward when my way was 
lonely has increased, I believe, this solicitude for my 
companion. I am not very much afraid of our quarrel- 
ling or wearying of each other, but I am not sure how 
we shall bear poverty; and I am sensible we shall be 
very poor. I do not make a lOO;^ a year, I have told 
you, by my profession. You would not marry in this 
situation } and neither would I if I saw any likelihood 
of its growing better before I was too old to marry at 
all; or did not feel the desolation of being in solitude 
as something worse than any of the inconveniences of 
poverty. Besides, we trust to Providence, and have 



82 LORD JEFFREY 

hopes of dying before we get into prison, &. I wrote 
my uncle by the packet in June, and communicated 
to him in a dutiful manner, the change I propose 
to make in my condition. My father says he will 
probably do something for me on this occasion; 
but I do not allow myself to entertain any very sanguine 
expectation. He knows very little about me, and I 
can easily understand that it may be inconvenient to 
make any advance at present, which I have no right to 
receive. I shall certainly never submit to ask, and en- 
deavor to pursuade myself that I am above hoping or 
wishing very anxiously. Catharine^ has her love to 
you. She says I flirt so extravagantly with her sisters, 
that she is determined to make me jealous of you, if 
you give her any encouragement. She is a very good 
girl, but nothing prodigious, and quite enough given 
to flirtation without any assistance from you. 

Farewell, then, my good citizen. I hope we shall 
see you soon, and see you as we used to do, with all 
your strength and beauty about you. As you are now 
the only unmarried animal in the genealogy, we propose 
to treat you with great scorn and indignity as soon as 
you arrive among us; to put you into a narrow bed, 
and place you at the lower end of the table, never to wait 
dinner for you, and to feed you with cold meat and sour 
wine. Moreover, we mean to lay grievous taxes on 
you, and make you stand godfather to all our children. 
If you give any symptoms of reformation, we may 
probably relent. If you want a wife, (or know anybody 
who wants one,) you must come to this ancient city. 
* Catharine Wilson, whom Jeffrey married in Nov., 1801. 



LORD JEFFREY 83 

There are more beauties than you ever saw anywhere 
else, among the same number of women; and not more 
than five or six men to prevent you from choosing among 
them. 

I bathe, and walk, and sleep, and dream away my 
time, in the most voluptuous manner; but must rouse 
myself in a week or two, and go to provide a mansion 
for myself, before the wintry days come back on us 
again. 

Remember me very affectionately to my uncle. Take 
care of yourself, and believe me always most affectionately 
yours. 



LORD JEFFREY TO FRANCIS HORNER, 
ESQ. 

St. Andrews, 8th August, 1803. 

My Dear Horner — 

From this place of leisure, you will expect a long, 
collected letter; but my wits are so besotted with the 
epidemic eating and drinking of the place, and my 
hand so disused to writing, that I feel as if it were im- 
possible for me to get over the leaf with you. 

I came here a week ago with the resolution to study 
very hard; and yet in spite of many vigorous and reiterat- 
ed endeavours, I have been able to do nothing but read the 
Tale of the Tub, and answer six cards of invitation. 
My conscientious qualms, too, are daily becoming 
less importunate, and unless you will flap me up to 



84 LORD JEFFREY 

something like exertion, I think it is very likely that 
in another week I shall have forgotten that I have reviews 
to write, and Frenchmen to slaughter^ It is impossible, 
indeed, to be in a situation more favourable for that 
last act of oblivion. There is not an armed man in 
the whole county; and a single privateer might carry 
off all the fat cattle and fair women in the district. 
To me, who make it a point of conscience to believe in 
an invasion, this negligence is perfectly shocking. Our 
Review came out, though, after a very hard labour, 
on the regular day; and it is by this time, I have no 
doubt, in your hands. It is my business to receive 
opinions, you know, and not to offer any. I am much 
afraid, however, that your "Lord King" is the best 
article in the number; and you will think some of the 
most laborious very bad. I am impatient to hear what 
you think, and also what you hear. If we begin to 
sink in general estimation at this crisis, we shall speedily 

go to the bottom, & 

Let me know, my dear Horner, how you proceed; 
and how soon you will be able to patronize me. As 
soon as you are chancellor, I am resolved to cringe to 
you for a place. Tell me something about your society, 
and give me some more of those sage advices as to my 
conduct, from which I used to receive so much benefit 
and delight. It was announced last night in the club 
that Lord Webb was to pass next winter in Edinburgh; 
I hope you will confirm this, and send him down fully 

' In May, 1803, the British Government declared war on France as 
a consequence of Napoleon^s failure to observe the conditions of the 
treaty of Amiens, signed by the two nations in 1802. 



CHARLES LAMB 85 

convinced that, without being a member of the said 
club, it is impossible to have any tolerable existence in 
Edinburgh. Do not forget your promise of recruiting 
for us. We shall want journeymen for a third, and 
sometimes for a half of each number, and I suspect 
they may be got better in own than anywhere else. I 
wish we could get a rational classic, and get that part 
of the journal done in a superior style. I long for the 
sheet of politics you promised me, and am beginning 
to have some curiosity to know what is to become of 
the world. — Believe me, &. 



CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDS- 
WORTH 

January 30, 1801. 

I ought before this to have replied to your very kind 
invitation into Cumberland. With you and your sister 
I could gang anywhere; but I am afraid whether I shall 
ever be able to afford so desperate a journey. Separate 
from the pleasure of your company, I don't much care 
if I never see a mountain in my life. I have passed all 
my days in London, until I have formed as many and 
intense local attachments as any of you mountaineers can 
have done with dead nature. The lighted shops of the 
Strand and Fleet Street; the innumerable trades, trades- 
men, and customers, coaches, wagons, playhouses; all 
the bustle and wickedness round about Covent Garden; 
. . . . thewatchmen, drunken scenes, rattles; life awake, 



86 CHARLES LAMB 

if you awake, at all hours of the night; the impossi- 
bility of being dull in Fleet Street; the crowds, the very 
dirt and mud, the sun shining upon houses and pave- 
ments, the print-shops, the old book-stalls, parsons 
cheapening books, coffee-houses, steams of soups from 
kitchens, the pantomimes — London itself a pantomime 
and a masquerade — all these things work themselves 
into my mind, and feed me, without a power of satiating 
me. The wonder of these sights impels me into night- 
walks about her crowded streets, and I often shed tears 
in the motley Strand from fulness of joy at so much life. 
All these emotions must be strange to you; so are your 
rural emotions to me. But consider, what must I have 
been doing all my life not to have lent great portions 
of my heart with usury to such scenes ? 

My attachments are all local, purely local. I have no 
passion or have had none since I was in love, and then 
it was the spurious engendering of poetry and books for 
groves and valleys. The rooms where I was born, the 
furniture which has been before my eyes all my life, a 
bookcase which has followed me about like a faithful 
dog (only exceeding him in knowledge), wherever I have 
moved, old chairs, old tables, streets, squares, where I 
have sunned myself; my old school — these are my mis- 
tresses. Have I not enough, without your mountains ? 
I do not envy you. I should pity you, did I not know 
that the mind will make friends of anything. Your sun, 
and moon, and skies, and hills, and lakes, affect me no 
more, or scarcely come to me in more venerable charac- 
ters, than as a gilded room with tapestry and tapers, 
where I might live with handsome visible objects. I 



CHARLES LAMB 87 

consider the clouds above me but as a roof beautifully 
painted, but unable to satisfy the mind: and at last, like 
the pictures of the apartment of the connoisseur, unable 
to afford him any longer a pleasure. So fading upon me, 
from disuse, have been the beauties of Nature, as they 
have been confinedly called; so ever fresh, and green, 
and warm are all the inventions of men, and assemblies 
of men in this great city. I should certainly have laughed 
with dear old Joanna. 

Give my kindest love, and my sister's, to D. and your- 
self; and a kiss from me to little Barbara Lewthv^aite. 
Thank you for liking my play. 

C. L. 



CHARLES LAMB TO BERNARD BARTON 

January 9, 1823. 

"Throw yourself on the world without any rational 
plan of support, beyond what the chance employ of book- 
sellers would afford you!!!" 

Throw yourself rather, my dear sir, from the steep 
Tarpeian rock, slap-dash headlong upon iron spikes. 
If you had but five consolatory minutes between the desk 
and the bed, make much of them, and live a century in 
them, rather than turn slave to the booksellers; they are 
Turks and Tartars when they have poor authors at their 
beck. Hitherto you have been at arm's length from them. 
Come not within their grasp. I have known many 
authors (want) for bread, some repining, others envying 
the blessed security of a counting-house, all agreeing 



88 CHARLES LAMB 

they had rather have been tailors, weavers, — what not ? — 
rather than the things they were. I have known some 
starved, some to go mad, one dear friend Hterally dying 
in a workhouse. You know not what a rapacious, 
dishonest set these booksellers are. Ask even Southey, 
who (a single case almost) has made a fortune by book- 
drudgery, what he has found them. O, you know not 
(may you never know!) the miseries of subsisting by 
authorship. 'Tis a pretty appendage to a situation like 
yours or mine; but a slavery, worse than all slavery, 
to be a bookseller's dependent, to drudge your brains 
for pots of ale and breasts of mutton, to change your 
free thoughts and voluntary numbers for ungracious 
task-work. Those fellows hate us. The reason I take 
to be, that contrary to other trades, in which the master 
gets all the credit (a jeweler or silversmith for instance) 
and the journeyman, who really does the fine work, 
is in the background, — in our work the world gives all 
the credit to us, whom they consider as their journeymen, 
and therefore do they hate us, and cheat us, and oppress 
us, and would wring the blood of us out, to put another 
sixpence in their mechanic pouches! I contend that a 
bookseller has a relative honesty towards authors, not 

like his honesty to the rest of the world 

Keep to your bank, and the bank will keep you. Trust 
not to the public; you may hang, starve, drown your- 
self, for anything that worthy personage cares. I bless 
every star that Providence, not seeing good to make me 
independent, has seen it next good to settle me upon the 
stable foundation of Leadenhall. Sit down, good B. B., 
in the banking-office. What! is there not from six to 



CHARLES LAMB 89 

eleven P. M. six days in the week, and is there not all 
Sunday ? Fie, what a superfluity of man's time, if you 
could think so! — enough for relaxation, mirth, converse, 
poetry, good thoughts, quiet thoughts. O the corroding, 
torturing, tormenting thoughts, that disturb the brain 
of the unlucky wight who must draw upon it for daily 
sustenance! Henceforth I retract all my fond complaints 
of mercantile employment; look upon them as lovers* 
quarrels. I was but half in earnest. Welcome dead 
timber of a desk, that makes me live. A little grumbling 
is a wholesome medicine for the spleen; but in my inner 
heart do I approve and embrace this our close but un- 
harassing way of life. I am quite serious. If you can 
send me Fox, I will not keep it six weeks, and will return 
it, with warm thanks to yourself and friend, without 
blot or dog's-ear. You will oblige me by this kindness. 

Yours truly, 

C. Lamb. 



CHARLES LAMB TO WILLIAM WORDS- 
WORTH 

CoLEBRooK Cottage, April 6, 1825. 

Dear Wordsworth — 

I have been several times meditating a letter to you 
concerning the good thing which has befallen me, but 
the thought of poor Monkhouse came across me. He 
was one that I had exulted in the prospect of congratu- 
lating me. He and you were to have been the first parti- 



90 CHARLES LAMB 

cipators, for indeed it has been ten weeks since the first 
motion of it. Here I am then, after thirty three years' 
slavery, sitting in my own room at eleven o'clock this 
finest of all April mornings, a freed man, with 441;^ a 
year for the remainder of my life, live I as long as John 
Dennis, who outlived his annuity and starved at ninety; 
441;^ /. e. 450;^, with a deduction of (^£ for a provision 
secured to my sister, she being survivor, the pension 
guaranteed by Act Georgii Tertii, etc. 

I came home FOR EVER on Tuesday in last week. 
The incomprehensibleness of my condition overwhelmed 
me. It was like passing from life into eternity. Every 
year to be as long as three, /. e. to have three times as 
much real time (time that is my own) in it! I wandered 
about thinking I was happy, but feeling I was not. But 
that tumultuousness is passing off, and I begin to under- 
stand the nature of the gift. Holydays, even the annual 
month, were always uneasy joys; their conscious fugi- 
tiveness; the craving after making the most of them. 
Now, when all is holyday, there are no holydays. I can 
sit at home, in rain or shine, without a restless impulse 
for walkings. I am daily steadying, and shall soon find 
it as natural to me to be my own master, as it has been 
irksome to have had a master. Mary wakes every morn- 
ing with an obscure feeling that some good has happened 
to us. 

Leigh Hunt^ and Montgomery^, after their release- 
ments, describe the shock of their emancipation much as 
I feel mine. But it hurt their frames. I eat, drink, 

1784-1859, English essayist, poet, miscellaneous writer. 

James Montgomery, 1771-1854, Scottish poet. 



WALTER SCOTT 91 

and sleep as sound as ever. I lay no anxious schemes 
for going hither and thither, but take things as they occur. 
Yesterday I excursioned twenty miles; to-day I write a 
few letters. Pleasuring was for fugitive play-days; 
mine are fugitive only in the sense that life is fugitive. 
Freedom and life are co-existent! .... 

C. Lamb. 



WALTER SCOTT TO FRANCIS DOUCE, 
F. S. A. 

Edinburgh, 9 Feb. 1808. 
Dear Sir, 

I have deferred from day to day returning you my 
best thanks for the kind and most acceptable token of 
your remembrance \ which I received about a fortnight 
since, and which, notwithstanding an unusual press of 
business, of various kinds, has been my companion for 
an hour or two every afternoon since. Every admirer 
of Shakespeare, and I hope that comprehends all that 
can read or hear reading, must be necessarily delighted 
with the profusion of curious and interesting illustra- 
tions which your remarks contain. 

I meant to have offered the few remarks that occurred 
to me while I was going through your volumes, which 
would at least have shown the attention I had paid in 
the perusal; but I have never had a moment's time to 
accomplish my purpose. In particular, concerning 
the Fools of Shakespeare, a subject of so much curiosity, 
^A book: Illustrations of Shakespeare^ and of Ancient Mariner. 



92 ROBERT SOUTHEY 

and which you have so much elucidated, it might be 
interesting to you to know, that fifty years ago there was 
hardly a great house in Scotland where there was not 
an all-licensed fool — half crazy and half knavish — many 
of whose hon mots are still recited and preserved. The 
late Duke of Argyle had a jester of this description, who 
stood at the sideboard among the servants, and was a 
great favorite, until he got into disgrace by rising up in 
the Kirk before sermon, and proclaiming the bans of 
marriage between himself and my friend, Lady Char- 
lotte Campbell. So you see it is not so very long, at 
least in this country, since led captains, pimps, and 
players have superseded the roguish clowns of Shakes- 
peare. But all this, with any other scantlings of infor- 
mation which have occurred to me, I must now reserve 
till I have the pleasure of returning my thanks in person, 
which will probably be in the course of a few weeks, 
as I have some prospect of being called to London this 
spring. 

In this hope, I am, dear Sir, your much obliged hum- 
ble servant, 

Walter Scott. 



ROBERT SOUTHEY TO JOHN RICK- 
MAN, ESQ. 

Keswick, August 17-20, 1809. 
My dear Rickman, 

I can wish you nothing better than that your life may 
be as long, your age as hale, and your death as easy as 



ROBERT SOUTHEY 93 

your father's. The death of a parent is a more awful 
sorrow than that of a child, but a less painful one: it 
is in the inevitable order and right course of nature that 
ripe fruit should fall; it seems like one of its mishaps 
when the green bud is cut off. In the outward and visible 
system of things nothing is wasted: it would therefore 
be belying the whole system to believe that intellect and 
love, — which are of all things the best, — could perish. 
I have a strong and lively faith in a state of continued 
consciousness from this stage of existence, and that we 
shall recover the consciousness of some lower stages 
through which we may previously have passed, seems 
to me not improbable. The supposition serves for 
dreams and systems, — the belief in a possession more 
precious than any other. I love life, and can thoroughly 
enjoy it; but if to exist were but a lifehold property, I 
am doubtful whether I should think the lease worth 
holding. It would be better never to have been than 
ever to cease to be. 

Still I shall hope for your coming. You would at any 
rate have been inconveniently late for the Highlands, 
for which as near Midsummer as possible is the best 
season. September is the best for this country 

I hope soon to hear that you are coming. Remember 
me to Mrs. Rickman. I admit that she is better em- 
ployed than in visiting the Lakes. But it is the only 
employment that I should admit to be so. 
God bless you. 

R. S. 



94 GEORGE CRABBE 



GEORGE CRABBE TO MARY LEAD- 
BEATER 

Trowbridge 7th Septemhery 18 17. 

A description of your village society would be very 
gratifying to me — how the manners differ from those 
in larger societies, or in those under different circum- 
stances. I have observed an extraordinary difference 
in village manners in England, especially between those 
places otherwise nearly alike, when there was and when 
there was not a leading man, or a squire's family, or a 
manufactory near, or a populous, vitiated town, &c. 
All these, and many other circumstances, have great 
influence. Your quiet village, with such influencing 
minds, I am disposed to think highly of. No one, per- 
haps, very rich — none miserably poor. No girls, from 
six years to sixteen, sent to a factory, where men, women, 
and children of all ages are continually with them breath- 
ing contagion. Not all, however: we are not so evil — 
there is a resisting power, and it is strong; but the thing 
itself, the congregation of so many minds, and the 
intercourse it occasions, will have its powerful and 
visible effect. But these you have not: yet, as you 
mention your schools of both kinds, you must be more 
populous and perhaps not so happy as I was giving 
myself to believe. 

I will write my name and look for two lines; but com- 
plying with you, my dear lady, is a kind of vanity. I 
find however, no particular elevation of spirit, and will do 



GEORGE CRABBE 95 

as you desire; indeed, your desire must be very unlike 
yours, if I were not glad to comply with it; for the world 
has not spoiled you, Mary, I do believe: now it has me. 
I have been absorbed in its mighty vortex, and gone into 
the midst of its greatness, and joined in its festivities 
and frivolities, and been intimate with its children. 
You may like me very well, my kind friend, while the 
purifying water, and your more effectual imagination, 
is between us; but come you to England, or let me 
be in Ireland, and place us where mind becomes ac- 
quainted with mind, — and then! ah, Mary Leadbeater! 
you would have done with your friendship with me! 
Child of simplicity and virtue, how can you let yourself be 
so deceived ? Am I not a great fat Rector, living upon a 
mighty income, while my poor curate starves with six hun- 
gry children, upon the scraps that fall from the luxurious 
table ? Do I not visit that horrible London, and enter 
into its abominable dissipations ? Am I not this day 
going to dine on venison and drink claret ? Have I 
not been at election dinners, and joined the Babel- 
confusion of a town-hall.'' Child of simplicity! am I 
fit to be a friend to you, and to the peaceful, mild, pure, 
gentle people about you .'' One thing only is true, — 
I wish I had the qualification; but I am of the world, 
Mary. Though I hope to procure a free cover for you, 
yet I dare not be sure, and so must husband my room. 
I am sorry for your account of the fever among your 
poor. Would I could suggest anything! I shall dine 
with one of our representatives to-day; but such sub- 
jects pass off: all say, "Poor people, I am sorry," and 
there it ends. My new Tales are not yet entirely ready, 



96 JOHN KEATS 

but do not want much that I can give them. I return 
all your good wishes, think of you, and with much re- 
gard, more than, indeed, belongs to a man of the world! 
Still, let me be permitted to address thee. — O! my dear 
Mrs. L., this is so humble that I am afraid it is vain. 
Well! write soon, then, and believe me to be most 
sincerely, and affectionately yours, 

George Crabbe. 



JOHN KEATS TO J. H. REYNOLDS 

Winchester, August 25, 1819. 

My dear Reynolds — 

By this post I v^rite to Rice, who will tell you why we 
have left Shanklin; and how we like this place. I have 
indeed scarcely anything else to say, leading so monoto- 
nous a life, except I was to give you a history of sensa- 
tions, and day nightmares. You would not find me at 
all unhappy in it, as all my thoughts and feelings which 
are of the selfish nature, home speculations, every day 
continue to make me more iron — I am convinced more 
and more, every day, that fine writing is, next to fine 
doing, the top thing in the world; the Paradise Lost be- 
comes a greater wonder. The more I know what my dili- 
gence may in time probably effect, the more does my 
heart distend with Pride and Obstinacy — I feel it in my 
power to become a popular writer — I feel it in my power 
to refuse the poisonous suffrage of a public. My own 
being which I know to be becomes of more consequence 



JOHN KEATS 97 

to me than the crowds of Shadows in the shape of men 
and women that inhabit a kingdom. The soul is a 
world of itself, and has enough to do in its own home. 
Those whom I know already, and who have grown as 
it were a part of myself, I could not do without: but 
for the rest of mankind, they are as much a dream to 
me as Milton's Hierarchies^ I think if I had a free 
and healthy and lasting organization of heart, and lungs 
as strong as an ox's, so as to be able to bear unhurt 
the shock of extreme thought and sensation without 
weariness, I could pass my life very nearly alone, though 
it should last eighty years. But I feel my body too 
weak to support me to the height, I am obliged con- 
tinually to check myself, and be nothing. 

It would be vain for me to endeavor after a more 
reasonable manner of writing to you. I have nothing 
to speak of but myself, and what can I say but what I 
feel ? If you should have any reason to regret this 
state of excitement in me, I will turn the tide of your 
feelings in the right channel, by mentioning that it is 
the only state for the best sort of poetry — that is all I 
care for, all I live for. Forgive me for not filling up the 
whole sheet; letters become so irksome to me, that the 
next time I leave London I shall petition them all to 
be spared me. To give me credit for constancy, and 
at the same time waive letter-writing, will be the highest 
indulgence I can think of. 

Ever your affectionate friend, 
John Keats. 

^Paradise Lost, Bk. I, 737; V, 591, 692. 



98 SYDNEY SMITH 

SYDNEY SMITH TO LADY GEORGIANA 
MORPETH 

FosTON, Dec. 1st, 1821. 
My Dear Lady Georgiana, — 

How is Lord Carlisle ? Pray do not take it for in- 
attention that I do not call oftener, but it is rather too 
far to walk, and I hate riding. Next year I shall set 
up a gig, and then I shall call at Castle Howard twice 
a day all the year round, like an apothecary. I have 
just finished Miss Aitkin's "Memoirs of Queen Eliza- 
beth," a pretty book, which I counsel you to let your 
daughters read, if they have not read it five years ago. 
I am in low spirits about the Malton road. I must go 
over to Malton so often, and it will be so troublesome. 
All my hay-stacks and corn-ricks are blown away by 
this wind, two of my maids are married, and the pole 
of my carriage is broken! These are the sort of things 
which render life so difficult. 

Yours, dear Lady Georgiana, 

Sydney Smith. 



SYDNEY SMITH TO MISS GEORGIANA 
HARCOURT 

18, Stratford Place, June 6th, 1833. 
Dear Georgiana, — 

You use me very ill in not sending me the receipt for 
the lemon-peel water. I verily believe I should have 



SYDNEY SMITH 99 

recovered two days ago if I had received it. My pre- 
mature decease will be entirely attributable to you. 

Yours truly, 

Sydney Smith. 

My Epitaph 

This horrible slaughter 

Was entirely owing to the Archbishop's daughter, 

Who would not give him the receipt for lemon water. 



SYDNEY SMITH TO MISS 

London, July 22d, 1835. 

Lucy, Lucy, my dear child, don't tear your frock; 
tearing frocks is not of itself a proof of genius; but write 
as your mother writes, act as your mother acts; be 
frank, loyal, affectionate, simple, honest; and then 
integrity or laceration of frock is of little import. 

And Lucy, dear child, mind your arithmetic. You 
know, in the first sum of yours I ever saw, there was a 
mistake. You had carried two (as a cab is licensed to 
do), and you ought, dear Lucy, to have carried but one. 
Is this a trifle ^. What would life be without arithmetic 
but a scene of horrors ^. 

You are going to Boulogne, the city of debts, peopled 
by men who never understood arithmetic; by the time 
you return, I shall probably have received my first 



100 SYDNEY SMITH 

paralytic stroke, and shall have lost all recollection of 
you; therefore I now give you my parting advice. 
Don't marry any body who has not a tolerable under- 
standing and a thousand a year, and God bless you, 
dear child. 

Sydney Smith. 



SYDNEY SMITH TO THOMAS MOORE 

March 12, 1S41. 
Dear Moore, — 

I have a breakfast of philosophers to-morrow at ten 
punctually; muffins and metaphysics, crumpets and 
contradiction. Will you come ? 

Sydney Smith. 



SYDNEY SMITH TO CHARLES DICKENS 

May 14th, 1842. 
My Dear Dickens, 

I accept your obliging invitation conditionally. If 
I am invited by any man of greater genius than your- 
self, or one by whose works I have been more completely 
interested, I will repudiate you, and dine with the more 
splendid phenemenon of the two. 

Ever yours sincerely, 
Sydney Smith. 



SYDNEY SMITH 101 



SYDNEY SMITH TO MISS GEORGIANA 
HARCOURT 

Combe-Florey, September, 1843. 

My dear Georgiana, — 

I am retiring from business as a diner-out, but I recom- 
mend to attention as a rising wit, Mr. Milnes^, whose 

misfortune I believe it is not to be known to you 

L'ttle Tommy Moore^ sent me some verses after leaving 
Combe-Florey, which I send to you even though they are 
laudatory of me, trusting in your constant goodness and 
kindness to the subject of his panegyric. Moore has 
one or two notes, and looks when he is singing like a 
superannuated cherub. 

You and I are both inn-keepers, and are occupied 
from one end of the week to the other in looking after 
company. I think we ought to have soldiers billeted 

^ Richard Monckton Milnes, 1809-1885, the first Lord Hough- 
ton, the poet and statesman. 

^Thomas Moore, 1779-1852, the Irish poet. The following is 
the poem: 

Rare Sydney! Thiice honoured the stall where he sits, 

And be his every honour he deigneth to climb at! 

Had England a hierarchy formed all of wits, 

Whom, but Sydney, would England proclaim as its Primate! 

And long may he flourish, frank, merry, and brave, 

A Horace to feast with, a Pascal to read! 

When he laughs all is safe; but when Sydney grows grave, 

We shall then think the Church is in danger indeed. 



102 THOMAS MACAULAY 

upon us. My sign is the ** Rector's Head," yours the 
"Mitre." My Devonshire curate and his wife are just 
come, and are drinking in the tap. Mrs. Sydney and 
I are tolerably well; I have quite got rid of my gouty 
knee, but the hot weather makes me very languid. 

I suppose you will soon be at Bishopthorpe, surrounded 
by the sons of the prophets. What a charming exis- 
tence to live in the midst of holy people, to know that 
nothing profane can approach you, to be certain that 
a dissenter can no more be found in the Palace than a 
snake can exist in Ireland, or ripe fruit in Scotland. 
To have your society strong and undiluted by the laity, 
to bid adieu to human learning, to feast on the Canons, 
and revel in the Thirty-Nine Articles. Happy Geor- 
giana! 

My curate's name is Tin Lin. I must go and do the 
honours. God bless you, dear Georgiana. Look at 
the map where those dwell who have a regard and affec- 
tion for you, and make a strong mark in the neighbor- 
hood of Taunton. 

Sydney Smith. 



THOMAS MACAULAY TO HIS FATHER 

Bradford: July 26, 1826. 
My dear Father, — 

On Saturday I went to Sydney Smith's\ His parish 
lies three or four miles out of any frequented road. He 
is, however, most pleasantly situated. "Fifteen years 

* Cf. Biographical note, page 265. 



THOMAS MACAULAY 103 

ago," said he to me as I alighted at the gate of his shrub- 
bery, "I was taken up in Piccadilly and set down here. 
There was no house, and no garden; nothing but a bare 
field." One service this eccentric divine has certainly 
rendered to the Church. He has built the very neatest, 
most commodious, and most appropriate rectory that 
I ever saw. All its decorations are in a peculiarly cleri- 
cal style, grave, simple, and gothic. The bedchambers 
are excellent, and excellently fitted up; the sitting- 
rooms handsome; and the grounds sufficiently pretty. 
Tindal and Parke (not the judge of course), two of the 
best lawyers, best scholars, and best men in England, 
were there. We passed an extremely pleasant evening, 
had a very good dinner, and many amusing anecdotes. 

After breakfast the next morning I walked to church 
with Sydney Smith. The edifice is not at all in keeping 
with the rectory. It is a miserable little hovel with a 
wooden belfry. It was, however, well filled, and with 
decent people, who seemed to take very much to their 
pastor. I understand that he is a very respectable 
apothecary; and most liberal of his skill, his medicine, 
his soup, and his wine, among the sick. He preached 
a very queer sermon — the former half too familiar and 
the latter half too florid, but not without some ingenuity 
of thought and expression. 

Sydney Smith brought me to York on Monday 
morning, in time for the stage-coach which runs to Skip- 
ton. We parted with many assurances of good-will. 
I have really taken a great liking to him. He is full of 
wit, humor, and shrewdness. He is not one of those 
show-talkers who reserve all their good things for special 



104 THOMAS MACAULAY 

occasions. It seems to be his greatest luxury to keep 
his wife and daughters laughing for two or three hours 
every day. His notions of law, government, and trade 
are surprisingly clear and just. His misfortune is to 
have chosen a profession at once above him and below 
him. Zeal would have made him a prodigy; formality 
and bigotry would have made him a bishop; but he 
could neither rise to the duties of his order, nor stoop 
to its degradations. 

He praised my articles in the Edinburgh Review with 
a warmth which I am willing to believe sincere, because 
he qualified his compliments with several very sensible 
cautions. My great danger, he said, was that of taking 
a tone of too much asperity and contempt in controversy. 
I beheve that he is right, and I shall try to mend. 

Ever affectionately yours, 
T. B. M. 



THOMAS MACAULAY TO FANNY AND 
SELINA MACAULAY 

Ootacamund: August lo, 1834. 
My dear Sisters, — 

I sent last month a full account of my journey hither, 
and of the place, to Margaret, as the most stationary 
of our family; desiring her to let you all see what I 
had written to her. I think that I shall continue to 
take the same course. It is better to write one full and 
connected narrative than a good many imperfect frag- 
ments. 



THOMAS MACAULAY 105 

Money matters seem likely to go on capitally. My 
expenses, I find, will be smaller than I anticipated. The 
Rate of Exchange, if you know what that means, is very 
favorable indeed; and, if I live, I shall get rich fast. 
I quite enjoy the thought of appearing in the light of 
an old hunks who knows on which side his bread is 
buttered, a warm man; a fellow who will cut up well. 
This is not a character which the Macaulays have been 
much in the habit of sustaining; but I can assure you 
that, after next Christmas, I expect to lay up on an average 
about seven thousand pounds a year, while I remain 
in India. 

At Christmas I shall send home a thousand or twelve 
hundred pounds for my father and you all. I cannot 
tell you what a comfort it is to me to find that I shall 
be able to do this. It reconciles me to all the pains — 
acute enough, sometimes, God knows — of banishment. 
In a few years, if I live, — probably in less than five )^ears 
from the time at which you will be reading this letter — 
we shall be again together in a comfortable, though a 
modest, home; certain of a good fire, a good joint of 
meat, and a good glass of wine; without owing obli- 
gations to anybody; and perfectly indifferent, at least 
as far as our pecuniary interest is concerned, to the 
changes of the political world. Rely on it, my dear 
girls, that there is no chance of my going back with my 
heart cooled towards you. I came hither principally 
to save my family, and I am not likely while here to 
forget them. 

Ever yours, 

T. B. M. 



106 THOMAS MACAULAY 

THOMAS MACAULAY TO MR. THOMAS 
FLOWER ELLIS 

Calcutta: March 8, 1837. 
Dear Ellis, — 

I am at present very much worked, and have been so 
for a long time past. Cameron, after being laid up for 
some months, sailed at Christmas for the Cape, where 
I hope his health will be repaired; for this country can 
very ill spare him. However, we have almost brought 
our great work to a conclusion. In about a month we 
shall lay before the Government a complete Penal Code 
for a hundred millions of people, with a commentary 
explaining, and defending, the provisions of the text. 
Whether it is well, or ill, done heaven knows. I only 
know that it seems to me to be very ill done when I 
look at it by itself; and well done when I compare it 
with Livingstone's Code, with the French Code, or 
with the English statutes which have been passed for 
the purpose of consolidating and amending the Criminal 
Law. In health I am as well as ever I was in my life. 
Time glides fast. One day is so like another that, but 
for a habit which I acquired soon after I reached India of 
pencilling in my books the date of my reading them, I 
should have hardly any way of estimating the lapse 
of time. If I want to know when an event took place, 
I call to mind which of Calderon's plays, or of Plutarch's 
Lives, I was reading on that day. I turn to the book; 
find the date; and am generally astonished to see that, 
what seems removed from me by only two or three 
months, really happened nearly a year ago. 



GEORGE TICKNOR 107 

I intend to learn German on my voyage home, and 
I have indented largely, (to use our Indian official 
term,) for the requisite books. People tell me that it 
is a hard language; but I cannot easily believe that 
there is a language which I cannot master in four months, 
by working ten hours a day. I promise myself very 
great delight and information from German literature; 
and, over and above, I feel a sort of presentiment, a 
kind of admonition of the Deity, which assures me that 
the final cause of my existence, — the end for which I 
was sent into this vale of tears, — was to make game of 
certain Germans. The first thing to be done in obedience 
to this heavenly call is to learn German; and then I 
may perhaps, as Milton says, 

Frangere Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges.^ 

Ever yours affectionately, 

T. B. Macaulay. 



GEORGE TICKNOR TO C. S. DA VIES, 
PORTLAND* 

Newport, Rhode Island, August 17, 1826. 

Your letter of Sunday evening, my dear Charles, 
arrived at Boston on Wednesday morning, just as we 

^ The line occurs as follows in Milton's Latin poem, To Manso: 
"Frangam Saxonicas Britonum sub Marte phalanges." 

* This and the following letters are reprinted from Life, Letters^ and 
Journals of George Ticknor, 1909, by permission of Houghton Mifflin 
Company, holders of the copyright. 



108 GEORGE TICKNOR 

were bustling away to hear the great oration.* Would 
it had been yourself instead of your sign-manual; for 
it would have given you a higher and sublimer notion 
of oratory than you ever had before, if you had beheld 
and felt Mr. Webster's presence and power, as he stood 
there transfigured by the genius of eloquence, and ful- 
filling, in his own person, all he so marvellously described 
as peculiar to John Adams. It was altogether a different 
affair from that at Bunker Hill, much more solemn, 
imposing, and sublime. The hall was better arranged 
than I ever saw anything among us, being almost en- 
tirely and very gracefully covered with black; above 
four thousand people were quietly seated and perfectly 
silent; the light was very dim, partly from the mourning 
drapery, and partly from the obstruction of the windows 
with the bodies of the audience who thronged inside 
and outside; and Mr. Webster stood forward on an 
open stage, alone in the midst of the subdued multitude, 
and spoke without hesitation and with unmitigated 
power for an hour and fifty minutes, hardly once re- 
curring to his notes, which lay on a table partly behind 
him, and then rather to make a pause than to refresh 
his recollections. Every word he spoke was distinctly 
heard in every part of that vast throng, so awestruck 
were they beneath his power. 

The tone of the great body of the discourse was solemn 
and elevated, and though at intervals a murmur of 
applause and excitement ran through the crowd, it 

* This oration was the eulogy of Presidents Adams and Jefferson, 
both of whom died July 4, 1826, the fiftieth anniversary of the Declara- 
tion of Independence. 



GEORGE TICKNOR 109 

was immediately hushed by the very occasion itself, 
and by the grave expression of the speaker's countenance 
and manner, and all became as silent as death. But 
at the conclusion he forsook this tone, and addressed 
the people on the responsibility that rests with the present 
generation, as heirs to those who achieved our inde- 
pendence for us, and on the hopes and encouragements 
we have to perform boldly and faithfully the duties that 
have fallen upon us; so that when he ended, the minds 
of men were wrought up to an uncontrollable excite- 
ment, and there followed three tremendous cheers, 
inappropriate indeed to the occasion, but as inevitable 

as any other great movement of nature 

He was at our house the evening before, entirely 
disencumbered and careless; and dined with us un- 
ceremoniously after it was over, as playful as a kitten. 
This is what I think may be called a great man. 



GEORGE TICKNOR TO HON. EDWARD 
EVERETT 

Bellows Falls, Vermont, July 14, 1851. 

My dear Everett, — 

I have seen with much gratification from time to 
time, within the last year, and particularly in your last 
letter on the subject, that you interest yourself in the 
establishment of a public library in Boston; — I mean 
a library open to all the citizens, and from which all, 
under proper restrictions, can take out books. Such, 



110 GEORGE TICKNOR 

at least, I understand to be your plan; and I have 
thought, more than once, that I would talk with you 
about it, but accident has prevented it. However, 
perhaps a letter is as good on all accounts, and better 
as a distinct memorandum of what I mean. 

It has seemed to me, for many years, that such a free 
public library, if adapted to the wants of our people, 
would be the crowning glory of our public schools. 
But I think it important that it should be adapted to 
our peculiar character; that is, that it should come 
in at the end of our system of free instruction, and be 
fitted to continue and increase the effects of that system 
by the self-culture that results from reading. 

The great obstacle to this with us is not — as it is in 
Prussia and elsewhere — a low condition of the mass of 
the people, condemning them, as soon as they escape 
from school, and often before it, to such severe labor, 
in order to procure the coarsest means of physical sub- 
sistence, that they have no leisure for intellectual culture, 
and soon lose all taste for it. Our difficulty is, to furnish 
means specially fitted to encourage a love for reading, 
to create an appetite for it, which the schools often fail 
to do, and then to adapt these means to its gratification. 
That an appetite for reading can be very widely excited 
is plain, from what the chief publications of the last 
twenty years have accomplished, gradually raising the 
taste from such poor trash as the novels with which 
they began, up to the excellent and valuable works of 
all sorts which now flood the country, and are read by 
the middling classes everywhere, and in New England, 
I think, even by a majority of the people. 



GEORGE TICKNOR 111 

Now what seems to me to be wanted in Boston is, 
an apparatus that shall carry this taste for reading as 
deep as possible into society, assuming, what I beHeve 
to be true, that it can be carried deeper in our society 
than in any other in the world, because we are better 
fitted for it. To do this I would establish a library 
which, in its main department and purpose, should 
differ from all free libraries yet attempted; I mean one 
in which any popular books, tending to moral and in- 
tellectual improvement, should be furnished in such 
numbers of copies that many persons, if they desired 
it, could be reading the same work at the same time; 
in short, that not only the best books of all sorts, but the 
pleasant literature of the day, should be made accessible 
to the whole people at the only time when they care 
for it, i. e. when it is fresh and new. I would, therefore, 
continue to buy additional copies of any book of this 
class, almost as long as they should continue to be asked 
for, and thus, by following the popular taste, — unless 
it should demand something injurious, — create a real 
appetite for healthy general reading. This appetite, 
once formed, will take care of itself. It will, in the great 
majority of cases, demand better and better books; 
and can, I believe, by a little judicious help, rather than 
by any direct control or restraint, be carried much higher 
than is generally thought possible 

Nor would I, on this plan, neglect the establishment of 
a department for consultation, and for all the common 
purposes of public libraries, some of whose books, like 
encyclopaedias, and dictionaries, should never be lent 
out, while others could be permitted to circulate; all 



112 CHARLES DARWIN 

on the shelves being accessible for reference as 
many hours in the day as possible, and always in the 
evening 

Several years ago I proposed to Mr. Abbott Law- 
rence^ to move in favor of such a library in Boston; and, 
since that time, I have occasionally suggested it to other 
persons. In every case the idea has been well received; 
and the more I have thought of it and talked about it, 
the more I have been persuaded, that it is a plan easy 
to be reduced to practice, and one that would be followed 
by valuable results. 

I wish, therefore, that you would consider it, and see 
what objections there are to it. I have no purpose to 
do anything more about it myself than to write you this 
letter, and continue to speak of it, as I have done here- 
tofore, to persons who, like yourself, are interested in 
such matters. But I should be well pleased to know how 
it strikes you. 



CHARLES DARWIN TO W. D. FOX 

BoTOFOGO Bay, near Rio de Janeiro, 

May, 1832. 
My dear Fox, — 

I have delayed writing to you and all my other friends 

till I arrived here and had some little spare time. My 

mind has been, since leaving England, in a perfect hurri- 

^ Mr. Abbott Lawrence, founder of the Lawrence Scientific School 

at Harvard, was then minister to England. 



CHARLES DARWIN 113 

cane of delight and astonishment, and to this hour scarcely 
a minute has passed in idleness 

At St. Jago my natural history and most delightful 
labors commenced. During the three weeks I collected 
a host of marine animals and enjoyed many a good 
geological walk. Touching at some islands, we sailed 
to Bahia, and from thence to Rio, where I have already 
been some weeks. My collections go on admirably 
in almost every branch. As for insects, I trust I shall 
send a host of undescribed species to England. I be- 
lieve they have no small ones in the collections, and here 
this morning I have taken minute Hydropori, Noterus, 
Colymbetes, Hydrophilus, Hydrobius, Gromius, &c. 
&c., as specimens of fresh-water beetles. I am entirely 
occupied with land animals, as the beach is only sand. 
Spiders and the adjoining tribes have perhaps given 
me, from their novelty, the most pleasure. I think I 
have already taken several new genera. 

But Geology carries the day: it is like the pleasure 
of gambling. Speculating, on first arriving, what the 
rocks may be, I often mentally cry out 3 to i tertiary 
against primitive; but the latter have hitherto won all 
the bets. So much for the grand end of my voyage; 
in other respects things are equally flourishing. My 
life, when at sea, is so quiet, that to a person who can 
employ himself, nothing can be pleasanter; the beauty 
of the sky and brilliancy of the ocean together make a 
picture. But when on shore, and wandering in the sub- 
lime forests, surrounded by views more gorgeous than 
even Claude^ ever imagined, I enjoy a delight which 

^ Claude Lorrain, 1600-1682, the famous French landscape painter. 



114 CHARLES DARWIN 

none but those who have experienced it can understand. 
If it is to be done, it must be by studying Humboldt. At 
our ancient snug breakfasts, at Cambridge, I Httle thought 
that the wide Atlantic would ever separate us; but it is. 
a rare privilege that with the body, the feelings and 
memory are not divided. On the contrary, the pleasant- 
est scenes in my life, many of which have been in Cam- 
bridge, rise from the contrast of the present, the more 
vividly in my imagination. Do you think any diamond 
beetle will ever give me so much pleasure as our old 
friend crux major^? .... It is one of my most constant 
amusements to draw pictures of the past; and in them 
I often see you and poor little Fan. Oh, Lord, and then 
old Dash, poor thing! Do you recollect how you all 
tormented me about his beautiful tail ? 

.... Think when you are picking insects off a haw- 
thorne-hedge on a fine May day (wretchedly cold, I have 
no doubt), think of me collecting among pine-apples and 
orange-trees; whilst staining your fingers with dirty 
blackberries, think and be envious of ripe oranges. 
This is a proper piece of bravado, for I would walk 
through many a mile of sleet, snow, or rain to shake 
you by the hand. My dear old Fox, God bless you. Be- 
lieve me, 

Yours very affectionately, 

Charles Darwin. 



^ A kind of beetle of which Darwin was deUghted to find an oc- 
casional rare specimen during his Cambridge days. 



CHARLES DARWIN 115 

CHARLES DARWIN TO J. D. HOOKER 

(^January llth, 1844) 

.... Besides a general interest about the southern 
lands, I have been now ever since my return engaged 
in a very presumptuous work, and I know no one indi- 
vidual who would not say a very foolish one. I was so 
struck with the distribution of the Galapagos organisms, 
&c. &c., and with the character of the American fossil 
mammifers, &c. &c., that I determined to collect blindly 
every sort of fact, which could bear any way on what 
are species. I have read heaps of agricultural and horti- 
cultural books, and have never ceased collecting facts. 
At last gleams of light have come, and I am almost con- 
vinced (quite contrary to the opinion I started with) 
that species are not (it is like confessing a murder) 
immutable. Heaven forfend me from Lamarck non- 
sense of ** tendency to progression," "adaptations from 
the slow willing of animals," &c. ! But the conclu- 
sions I am led to are not widely different from his; 
though the means of change are wholly so. I think I 
have found out (here's presumption!) the simple way 
by which species become exquisitely adapted to various 
ends. You will now groan, and think to yourself, "on 
what a man have I been wasting my time and writing 
to." I should, five years ago, have thought so 



116 CHARLES DARWIN 

CHARLES DARWIN TO W. D. FOX 

Down, March 19th (1855). 
My dear Fox, — 

How long it is since we have had any communication, 
and I really want to hear how the world goes with you; 
but my immediate object is to ask you to observe a 
point for me, and as I know now you are a very busy 
man with too much to do, I shall have a good chance 
of your doing what I want, as it would be hopeless to 
ask a quite idle man. As you have a Noah's Ark, I 
do not doubt that you have pigeons. (How I wish by 
any chance they were fantails!) Now what I want to 
know is, at what age nestling pigeons have their tail 
feathers sufficiently developed to be counted. I do 
not think I ever saw a young pigeon. I am hard at 
work at my notes collecting and comparing them, in 
order in some two or three years to write a book with 
all the facts and arguments, which I can collect, for 
and versus the immutability of species. I want to get 
the young of our domestic breeds, to see how young, 
and to what degree, the differences appear. I must 
either breed myself (which is no amusement but a 
horrid bore to me) the pigeons or buy their young; and 
before I go to a seller, whom I have heard of from 
Yarrell, I am really anxious to know something about 
their development, not to expose my excessive ignorance, 
and therefore be excessively liable to be cheated and 
gulled. With respect to the one point of the tail feathers, 



CHARLES DARWIN 117 

it is of course in relation to the wonderful development 
of tail feathers in the adult fantail. If you had any 
breed of poultry pure, I would beg a chicken with exact 
age stated, about a week or fortnight old! to be sent in 
a box by post, if you could have the heart to kill one; 

and secondly, would let me pay postage Indeed, 

I should be .very glad to have a nestling common pigeon 
sent, for I mean to make skeletons, and have already 
just begun comparing wild and tame ducks. And I 
think the results rather curious, for on weighing the 
several bones very carefully, when perfectly cleaned 
the proportional weights of the two have greatly varied, 
the foot of the tame having largely increased. How I 
wish I could get a little wild duck of a week old, but 
that I know is almost impossible. 

With respect to ourselves, I have not much to say; 
we have now a terribly noisy house with the whooping 
cough, but otherwise are all well. Far the greatest fact 
about myself is that I have at last quite done with the 
everlasting barnacles. At the end of the year we had 
two of our little boys very ill with fever and bronchitis, 
and all sorts of ailments. Partly for amusements, and 
partly for change of air, v/e went to London and took a 
house for a month, but it turned out a great failure, for 
that dreadful frost just set in when we went, and all 
our children got unwell, and E. and I had coughs and 
colds and rheumatism nearly all the time. We had 
put down first on our list of things to do, to go and see 
Mrs Fox, but literally after waiting some time to see 
whether the weather would not improve, we had not a 
day when we both could go out. 



118 CHARLES DARWIN 

I do hope before very long you will be able to manage 
to pay us a visit. Time is slipping away, and we are 
getting oldish. Do tell us about yourself and all your 
large family. 

I know you will help me // you can with information 
about the young pigeons; and anyhow do write before 
very long. 

My dear Fox, your sincere old friend, 
C. Darwin. 



CHARLES DARWIN TO W. D. FOX 

Down, May 17th, (1855). 
My dear Fox, — 

You will hate the very sight of my handwriting; but 
after this time I promise I will ask for nothing more, at 
least for a long time. As you live on sandy soil, have 
you lizards at all common ? If you have, should you 
think it too ridiculous to offer a reward for me for lizard's 
eggs to the boys in your school; a shilling for every 
half-dozen, or more if rare, till you get two or three 
dozen and send them to me ? If snake's eggs were 
brought in mistake it would be very well, for I want 
such also; and we have neither lizards nor snakes about 
here. My object is to see whether such eggs will float 
on sea water, and whether they will keep alive thus 
floating for a month or two in my cellar. I am trying 
experiments on transportation of all organic beings that 
I can; and lizards are found on every island, and there- 



DR. ARNOLD 119 

fore I am very anxious to see whether their eggs stand 
sea water. Of course this note need not be answered, 
without, by a strange and favorable chance, you can 
some day answer it with the eggs. 

Your most troublesome friend, 

C. Darwin. 



DR. ARNOLD TO HIS NEPHEW, 
J. WARD, ESQ. 

Brathay Hall, July 7, 1832. 

.... A man's Hfe in London, while he is single, 
may be very stirring, and very intellectual, but I imagine 
that it must have a hardening effect, and that this effect 
will be more felt every year as the counter tendencies 
of youth become less powerful. The most certain 
softeners of a man's moral skin, and sweeteners of 
his blood, are, I am sure, domestic intercourse in a happy 
marriage, and intercourse with the poor. It is very 
hard, I imagine, in our present state of society, to keep 
up intercourse with God without one or both of these 
aids to foster it. Romantic and fantastic indolence 
was the fault of other times and other countries; here 
I crave more and more every day to find men unfevered 
by the constant excitement of the world, whether liter- 
ary, political, commercial, or fashionable; men who, 
while they are alive to all that is around them, feel also 
who is above them. I would give more than I can say, 
if your Useful Knowledge Society Committee had this 



120 DR. ARNOLD 

last feeling, as strongly as they have the other purely 

and beneficently I care not for one party or 

the other, but I do care for the country, and for interests 
even more precious than that of the country, which the 
present disordered state of the human mind seems 
threatening. But this mixes strangely with your present 
prospects,^ and I hope we may both manage to live in 
peace with our families in the land of our fathers, without 
crossing the Atlantic. 



DR. ARNOLD TO HIS AUNT, MRS. 
FRANCES DELAFIELD 

Rugby, September lo, 1834. 

This is your birthday, on which I have thought of 
you, and loved you, for as many years past as I can re- 
member. No loth of September will ever pass without 
my thinking of you and loving you. I pray that God 
will keep you through Jesus Christ, with all blessing, 
under every trial, which your age may bring upon you; 
and if, through Christ, we meet together after the Resur- 
rection, there will then be nothing of old or young — of 
healthy or sickly — of clear memory, or of confused — 
but we shall be all one in Christ Jesus. 



Mr. Ward was about to be married. 



JANE WELSH CARLYLE 121 



JANE WELSH CARLYLE TO MISS 
HUNTER* 

5 Cheyne Row, Chelsea: Thursday,(/M/;y ?) 1835. 

Dear, — 

I am too essentially Scotch not to give due heed to 
the proverb *it is good to make hay while the sun shines,* 
which means, in the present case, it is good to catch hold 
of a friend while she is in the humour. But I have been 
provokingly hindered from acting up to my principle 
by the prolonged absence of my usual domestic, vs^hich 
has kept us until the present day in "the valley of the 
shadow" of charwoman; and thoroughgoing as I know 
you to be, I feared to invite you to participate therein. 
Now, however, I have got the deficiency supplied, after 
a more permanent and comfortable fashion, and make 
haste to say "come and stay." Come, dear Susan, and 
let us make the best of the "very penetrating world" — 
as a maid of my mother's used to call it in vapourish 
moods — come and wind me up again, as you have often 
done before when I was quite run down, so that, from 
being a mere senseless piece of lumber, I began to tick 
and tell people what o'clock it was. Will you come in 
the ensuing week .? Name your own time, only remem- 
ber the sooner the better. 

My kind regards to Mr. John when you write, and to 

* This and the following are from Letters and Memorials of Jane 
Welsh Carlyle; copyright, 1883, by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. 



122 JANE WELSH CARLYLE 

your sister. Do you remember her physiological ob- 
servation on hens ? 

I hear nothing of his lordship, but the fault is 
my own. 

Yours affectionately, 

Jane Carlyle. 



JANE WELSH CARLYLE TO T. CARLYLE, 
ESQ., SCOTSBRIG 



Chelsea: Oct, 12, 1835. 
Dearest, — 

A newspaper is very pleasant when one is expecting 
nothing at all; but when it comes in place of a letter 
it is a positive insult to one's feelings. Accordingly your 
first newspaper was received by me in choicest mood; 
and the second would have been pitched in the fire, had 
there been one at hand, when, after having tumbled my- 
self from the top story at the risk of my neck, I found 
myself deluded with 'wun penny' m'. However, I 
flatter myself you would experience something of a simi- 
lar disappointment on receiving mine; and so we are 
quits, and I need not scold you. I have not been a day 
in bed since you went — have indeed been almost free 
of headache, and all other aches; and everybody says 
Mrs. Carlyle begins to look better — and what every- 
body says must be true. With this improved health 



JANE WELSH CARLYLE 123 

everything becomes tolerable, even to the peesweep 
Sereetha (for we are still without other help). Now that 
I do not see you driven desperate with the chaos, I can 
take a quiet view of it, and even reduce it to some degree 
of order. Mother and I have fallen naturally into a fair 
division of labour, and we keep a very tidy house. Se- 
reetha has attained the unhoped-for perfection of getting 
up at half after six of her own accord, lighting the par- 
lour-fire, and actually placing the breakfast things {nil 
desperandum me ducef). I get up at half after seven, 
and prepare the coffee and bacon-ham (which is the. life 
of me, making me always hungrier the more I eat of it). 
Mother, in the interim, makes her bed, and sorts her 
room. After breakfast, mother descends to the inferno, 
where she jingles and scours, and from time to time 
scolds Sereetha till all is right and tight there. I, above 
stairs, sweep the parlour, blacken the grate — make the 
room look cleaner than it has been since the days of 
Grace Macdonald; then mount aloft to make my own 
bed (for I was resolved to enjoy the privilege of having 
a bed of my own); then clean myself (as the servants 
say), and sit down to the Italian lesson. A bit of meat 
roasted at the oven suffices two days cold, and does not 
plague us with cookery. Sereetha can fetch up tea- 
things, and the porridge is easily made on the parlour- 
fire; the kitchen one being allowed to go out (for 
economy), when the Peesweep retires to bed at eight 

o'clock 

You will come back strong and cheerful, will you not .? 

I wish you were come, anyhov/ Dispense my 

love largely. Mother returns your kiss with interest. 



124 JANE WELSH CARLYLE 

We go on tolerably enough; but she has vowed to hate 
all my people except Pepoli. So that there is ever a 
'dark brown shadd' in all my little reunions. She has 
given me a glorious black-velvet gown, realizing my 
beau ideal of Putz! 

Did you take away my folding pen-knife ? We are 
knifeless here. We were to have gone to Richmond 
to-day with the Silverheaded; but to my great relief, 
it turned out that the steamboat is not running. 

God keep you, my own dear husband, and bring you 
safe back to me. The house looks very empty without 
you, and my mind feels empty too. 

Your Jane. 



JANE WELSH CARLYLE TO JOHN WELSH, 
ESQ., THE BATHS, HELENSBURGH 

Chelsea: July i8, 1843. 

Dearest, dear only Uncle Of Me, — I would give 
a crown that you could see me at this moment 
through a powerful telescope! You would laugh 
for the next twelve hours. I am doing the rural 
after a fashion so entirely my own! To escape from the 
abominable paint-smell, and the infernal noise within 
doors, I have erected, with my own hands, a gipsy-tent 
in the garden, constructed with clothes lines, long poles, 
and an old brown floor cloth! under which remarkable 



JANE WELSH CARLYLE 125 

shade I sit in an arm-chair at a small round table, with 
a hearth rug for carpet under my feet, writing-materials, 
sewing-materials, and a mind superior to Fate. 

The only drawback to this retreat is its being exposed 
to 'the envy of surrounding nations;' so many heads 
peer out on me from all the windows of the Row, eager 
to penetrate my meaning! If I had a speaking trumpet 
I would address them once for all: — 'Ladies and 
Gentlemen, — I am not here to enter my individual 
protest against the progress of civilization! nor yet 
to mock you with an Arcadian felicity, which you have 
neither the taste nor the ingenuity to make your own! 
but simply to enjoy Nature according to ability, and to 
get out of the smell of new paint! So, pray you, leave 
me to pursue my innocent avocations in the modest 
seclusion which I covet!' 

Not to represent my contrivance as too perfect, I 
must also tell you that a strong pufF of wind is apt to 
blow down the poles, and then the whole tent falls down 
on my head! This has happened once already since I 
began to write, but an instant puts it all to rights again. 
Indeed, without counteracting the indoors influences 
by all lawful means, I could not stay here at present 
without injury to my health, which is at no time of 
the strongest. Our house has for a fortnight back 
been a house possessed by seven devils! a painter, 
two carpenters, a paper-hanger, two nondescript ap- 
prentice-lads, and *a spy;' all playing the devil to the 
utmost of their powers; hurrying and scurrying 'up- 
stairs, downstairs, and in my lady's chamber!' afford- 
ing the liveliest image of a sacked city! 



126 JANE WELSH CARLYLE 

When they rush in at six of the morning, and spread 
themselves over the premises, I instantly jump out of 
bed, and *in wera desperation' take a shower bath. 
Then such a long day to be virtuous in! I make chair 
and sofa covers; write letters to my friends; scold the 
work-people, and suggest improved methods of doing 
things. And when I go to bed at night I have to leave 
both windows of my room wide open (and plenty of 
ladders lying quite handy underneath), that I may 
not, as old Sterling predicted, 'awake dead' of the paint. 

The first night that I lay down in this open state of 
things, I recollected Jeannie's house-breaker adventure 
last year, and, not wishing that all the thieves who 
might walk in at my open windows should take me quite 
unprepared, I laid my policeman's rattle and my dagger 
on the spare pillow, and then I went to sleep quite 
secure. But it is to be confidently expected that, in a 
week or more, things will begin to subside into their 
normal state; and meanwhile it were absurd to expect 
that any sort of revolution can be accomplished. There! 
the tent has been down on the top of me again, but it 
has only upset the ink. 

Jeannie appears to be earthquaking with like energy 
in Maryland Street, but finds time to write me nice 
long letters nevertheless, and even to make the loveliest 
pincushion for my birthday; and my birthday was 
celebrated also with the arrival of a hamper, into which 
I have not yet penetrated. Accept kisses ad infinitum 
for your kind thought of me, dearest uncle. I hope to 
drink your health many times in the Madeira when I 
have Carlyle with me again to give an air of respecta- 



JANE WELSH CARLYLE 127 

bility to the act. Nay, on that evening when it came 
to hand, I was feeling so sad and dreary over the con- 
trast between this Fourteenth of July — alone, in a 
house like a sacked city, and other Fourteenths that I 
can never forget, that I hesitated whether or no to get 
myself out a bottle of the Madeira there and then, and 
try for once in my life the hitherto unknown comfort 
of being dead drunk. But my sense of the respectable 
overcame the temptation. 

My husband has now left his Welshman, and is gone 
for a little while to visit the Bishop of St. David's. Then 
he purposes crossing over somehow to Liverpool, and, 
after a brief benediction to Jeannie, passing into Annan- 
dale. He has suffered unutterable things in Wales 
from the want of any adequate supply of tea! For 
the rest, his visit appears to have been pretty successful; 
plenty of sea-bathing; plenty of riding on horseback, 
and of lying under trees! I wonder it never enters his 
head to lie under the walnut-tree here at home. It 
is a tree! leaves as green as any leaves can be, even in 
South Wales! but it were too easy to repose under 
that: if one had to travel a long journey by railway to 
it, then indeed it might be worth while! 

But I have no more time for scribbling just now; be- 
sides, my pen is positively declining to act. So God 
bless you, ckar, and all of them. 

Ever your affectionate 

Jane Carlyle. 



128 JANE WELSH CARLYLE 

JANE WELSH CARLYLE TO J. G. 
COOKE, ESQ. 

5 Cheyne Row: January I, 1862. 
Ach Gottf 
My Dear Friend, — 

What an adorable little proceeding on your part! I 
declare I can't remember when I have been as pleased. 
Not only a 'good first foot,' but salvation from any 
possibility of a 'bad first foot,' with which my highly 
imaginative Scotch mind (imaginative on the reverse 
side of things in my present state of physical weakness) 
had been worrying itself as New Year's Day drew near. 
I could hardly believe my ears when little Margaret 
glided to my bedside and said, 'Mr. Cooke, ma'am, 
with this letter and beautiful egg-cup (!) for you; but 
he wouldn't come up, as you were in bed!' That, too, 
was most considerate of Mr. Cooke! The * egg-cup' 
ravished my senses with its beauty and perfect adapta- 
tion to my main passion. I think you must have had 
it made on purpose for me, it feels already so much a 
part of myself. And how early you must have risen 
to be here at that hour! Dressed, perhaps, by candle- 
light! Good God! all that for me! Well, I am grate- 
ful, and won't forget this. A talismanic remembrance 
to stand between my faith in your kindness for me and 
my 'babbles' (my grandfather's word) that may ever 
attempt, consciously or unconsciously, to shake it. And 
so God Bless you! and beheve me 

Yours aflTectionately, 

Jane Welsh Carlyle. 



CHARLES DICKENS 129 



CHARLES DICKENS TO MRS. DICKENS 



Greta Bridge, Thursday, Feb. ist, 1838. 

My dearest Kate, 

I am afraid you will receive this later than I could wish, 
as the mail does not come through this place until two 
o'clock to-morrow morning. However, I have availed 
myself of the very first opportunity of writing, so the 
fault is that mail's, and not this. 

We reached Grantham between nine and ten on Thurs- 
day night, and found everything prepared for our re- 
ception in the very best inn I have ever put up at. It 
is odd enough that an old lady, who had been outside 
all day and came in towards dinner time, turned out to be 
the mistress of a Yorkshire school returning from the 
holiday stay in London. She was a very queer old lady, 
and showed us a long letter she was carrying to one of 
the boys from his father, containing a severe lecture 
(enforced and aided by many texts of Scripture) on his 
refusing to eat boiled meat. She was very communi- 
cative, drank a great deal of brandy and water, and to- 
wards evening became insensible, in which state we left 
her. 

Yesterday we were up again shortly after seven A. M., 
came on upon our journey by the Glasgow mail, which 
charged us the remarkably low sum of six pounds fare 
for two places inside. We had a very droll male 
companion until seven o'clock in the evening, and a most 



130 CHARLES DICKENS 

delicious lady's maid for twenty miles, who implored 
us to keep a sharp look-out at the coach windows, as 
she expected the carriage was coming to meet her and 
she was afraid of missing it. We had many delightful 
vauntings of the same kind; but in the end it is scarcely 
necessary to say that the coach did not come, but a very 
dirty girl did. 

As we came further north the mire grew deeper. A- 
bout eight o'clock it began to fall heavily, and, as we 
crossed the wild heaths hereabout, there was no vestige 
of a track. The mail kept on well, however, and at 
eleven we reached a bare place with a house standing 
alone in the midst of a dreary moor, which the guard 
informed us was Greta Bridge. I was in a perfect 
agony of apprehension, for it was fearfully cold, and 
there were no outward signs of anybody being up in 
the house. But to our great joy we discovered a com- 
fortable room, with drawn curtains and a most blazing 
fire. In half an hour they gave us a smoking supper 
and a bottle of mulled port (in which we drank your 
health), and then we retired to a couple of capital bed- 
rooms, in each of which there was a rousing fire halfway 
up the chimney. 

We have had for breakfast, toast, cakes, a Yorkshire 
pie, a piece of beef about the size and much the shape 
of my portmanteau, tea, coffee, ham, and eggs; and 
are now going to look about us. Having finished our 
discoveries, we start in a postchaise for Barnard Castle, 
which is only four miles off, and there I deliver the letter 
given me by Mitton's friend. All the schools are round 
about that place, and a dozen old abbeys besides, which 



CHARLES DICKENS 131 

we shall visit by some means or other to-morrow. We 
shall reach York by Saturday I hope, and (God willing) 
I trust I shall be at home on Wednesday morning. 

I wish you would call on Mrs. Bentley and thank her 
for the letter; you can tell her when I expect to be in 
York. 

A thousand loves and kisses to the darling boy, whom 
I see in my mind's eye crawling about the floor of this 
Yorkshire inn. Bless his heart, I would give two sov- 
ereigns for a kiss. Remember me too to Frederick, who 
I hope is attentive to you. 

Is it not extraordinary that the same dreams which 
have constantly visited me since poor Mary^ died follow 
me everywhere ? After all the change of scene and 
fatigue, I have dreamt of her ever since I left home, 
and no doubt shall till I return. I should be sorry to 
lose such visions, for they are very happy ones, if it be 
only the seeing her in one's sleep. I would fain believe, 
too, sometimes, that her spirit may have some influence 
over them, but their perpetual repetition is extraordinary. 

Love to all friends. 

Ever, my dear Kate, 

Your affectionate Husband. 



^ His young sister-in-law, Mary Hogarth, to whom he was devotedly 
attached, died suddenly at his home in May, 1837. 



132 CHARLES DICKENS 



CHARLES DICKENS TO MASTER 
HASTINGS HUGHES 

Doughty Street, London, 

Dec. i2th, 1838. 
Respected Sir, 

I have given Squeers one cut on the neck and two on 
the head, at which he appeared much surprised and 
began to cry, which, being a cowardly thing, is just 
what I should have expected from him — wouldn't you ? 

I have carefully done what you told me in your letter 
about the lamb and the two "sheeps" for the little boys. 
They have also had some good ale and porter, and some 
wine. I am sorry you didn't say what wine you would 
like them to have. I gave them some sherry, which 
they liked very much, except one boy, who was a little 
sick and choked a good deal. He was rather greedy, 
and that's the truth, and I believe it went the wrong 
way, which I say served him right, and I hope you will 
say so too. 

Nicholas had his roast lamb, as you said he was to, 
but he could not eat it all, and says if you do not mind 
his doing so he should like to have the rest hashed to- 
morrow with some greens, which he is very fond of, 
and so am I. He said he did not like to have his porter 
hot, for he thought it spoilt the flavour, so I let him have 
it cold. You should have seen him drink it. I thought 
he never would have left off. I also gave him three 
pounds of money, all in sixpences, to make it seem more. 



CHARLES DICKENS 133 

and he said directly that he should give more than half 
to his mamma and sister, and divide the rest with poor 
Smike. And I say he is a good fellow for saying so; 
and if anybody says he isn't I am ready to fight him 
whenever they like — there! 

Fanny Squeers shall be attended to, depend upon it. 
Your drawing of her is very like, except that I don't 
think the hair is quite curly enough. The nose is partic- 
ularly like hers, and so are the legs. She is a nasty 
disagreeable thing, and I know it will make her very 
cross when she sees it; and what I say is that I hope it 
may. You will say the same I know — at least I think 
you will. 

I meant to have written you a long letter, but I can- 
not write very fast when I like the person I am writ- 
ing to, because that makes me think about them, and I 
like you, and so I tell you. Besides, it is just eight 
o'clock at night, and I always go to bed at eight o'clock, 
except when it is my birthday, and then I sit up to supper. 
So I will not say anything more besides this — and that 
is my love to you and Neptune; and if you will drink 
my health every Christmas Day I will drink yours — 
come. 

I am. 

Respected Sir, 

Your affectionate Friend, 

P. S. — I don't write my name very plain, but you 
know what it is you know, so never mind. 



134 CHARLES DICKENS 

CHARLES DICKENS TO GEORGE 
CATTERMOLE 



December 22nd, 1840. 
Dear George, 

The child lying dead in the little sleep-room, which 
is behind the open screen. It is winter time, so there 
are no flowers; but upon her breast and pillow, and 
about her bed, there may be strips of holly and berries, 
and such free green things. Window overgrown with 
ivy. The little boy who had that talk with her about 
angels may be by the bedside, if you like it so; but I 
think it will be quieter and more peaceful if she is quite 
alone. I want it to express the most beautiful repose 
and tranquillity, and to have something of a happy look, 
if death can. 

2. 

The child has been buried inside the church, and the 
old man, who cannot be made to understand that she 
is dead, repairs to the grave and sits there all day long, 
waiting for her arrival, to begin another journey. His 
staff and knapsack, her little bonnet and basket, etc., 
lie beside him. "She'll come tomorrow," he says 
when it gets dark, and goes sorrowfully home. I 
think an hour-glass running out would help the notion; 
perhaps her little things upon his knee, or in his hand. 
I am breaking my heart over this story, and cannot 
bear to finish it. 

Love to Missis. Ever and always heartily. 



CHARLES DICKENS 135 



CHARLES DICKENS TO MISS DICKENS 

Devonshire Terrace, 
Tuesday Night, Feb. 27th, 1849. 
My dearest Mamey, 

I am not engaged on the evening of your birthday. 
But even if I had an engagement of the most particular 
kind, I should excuse myself from keeping it, so that I 
might have the pleasure of celebrating at home, and 
among my children, the day that gave me such a dear 
and good daughter as you. 

Ever affectionately yours. 



CHARLES DICKENS TO MR. HENRY 

AUSTIN 

Office of "Household Words," 

Saturday, Oct. 25th, 1851. 
My dear Henry, 

On the day of our departure, I thought we were going 
— backwards — at a most triumphant pace; but yester- 
day we rather recovered. The painters still mislaid 
their brushes every five minutes, and chiefly whistled 
in the intervals; and the carpenters (especially the 
Pantechnicon) continued to look sideways with one 
eye down pieces of wood, as if they were absorbed in 



136 CHARLES DICKENS 

the contemplation of the perspective of the Thames 
Tunnel, and had entirely relinquished the vanities of 
this transitory world; but still there W2is an improvement, 
and it is confirmed to-day. White lime is to be seen 
in kitchens, the bath-room is gradually resolving itself 
from an abstract idea into a fact — youthful, extremely 
youthful, but a fact. The drawing-room encourages 
no hope whatever, nor the study. Staircase painted. 
Irish labourers howling in the school-room, but I don't 
know why. I see nothing. Gardener vigorously lopping 
the trees, and really letting in the light and air. Fore- 
man sweet-tempered but uneasy. Inimitable hovering 
gloomily through the premises all day, with an idea that 
a little more work is done when he flits, bat-like, through 
the rooms, than when there is no one looking on. Cath- 
erine all over paint. Mister McCann, encountering 
Inimitable in doorways, fades obsequiously into areas, 
and there encounters him again, and swoons with con- 
fusion. Several reams of blank paper constantly spread 
on the drawing-room walls, and sliced off again, which 
looks like insanity. Two men still clinking at the new 
stair-rails. I think they must be learning a tune; I 
cannot make out any other object in their proceedings. 

Since writing the above, I have been up there again, 
and found the young paper-hanger putting on his 
slippers, and looking hard at the walls of the servants' 
room at the top of the house, as if he meant to paper it 
one of these days. May Heaven prosper his intentions! 

When do you come back .? I hope soon. 

Ever affectionately. 



CHARLES DICKENS 137 



CHARLES DICKENS TO MR. MARK 
LEMON 

Tavistock House, 
Thursday, April 26th, 1855. 
My dear Mark, 

I will call for you at two, and go with you to High- 
gate, by all means. 

Leech and I called on Tuesday evening and left our 
loves. I have not written to you since, because I thought 
it best to leave you quiet for a day. I have no need to 
tell you, my dear fellow, that my thoughts have been 
constantly with you, and that I have not forgotten (and 
never shall forget) who sat up with me one night when 
a little place in my house was left empty. 

It is hard to lose any child, but there are many blessed 
sources of consolation in the loss of a baby. There is 
a beautiful thought in Fielding's "Journey from this 
World to the Next", where the baby he had lost many 
years before was found by him all radiant and happy, 
building him a bower in the Elysian Fields where they 
were to live together when he came. 

Ever affectionately yours. 

P. S. — Our kindest loves to Mrs. Lemon. 



138 CHARLES DICKENS 



CHARLES DICKENS TO MISS MARY 
BOYLE 

Office of "All the Year Round," 

Wednesday, Jan. 6th, 1869. 
My dear Mary, 

I was more affected than you can easily believe, by 
the sight of your gift lying on my dressing-table on the 
morning of the new year. To be remembered in a 
friend's heart when it is sore is a touching thing; and 
that and the remembrance of the dead quite over- 
powered me, the one being inseparable from the other. 

You may be sure that I shall attach a special interest 
and value to the beautiful present, and shall wear it 
as a kind of charm. God bless you, and may we carry 
the friendship through many coming years! 

My preparations for a certain murder that I had to do 
last night have rendered me unfit for letter-writing these 
last few days, or you would have heard from me sooner. 
The crime being completely off my mind and the blood 
spilled, I am (like many of my fellow-criminals) in a 
highly edifying state to-day. 

Ever beheve me, your affectionate friend. 



S. G. HOWE 139 



S. G. HOWE TO HORACE MANN* 

March 19th, 1838. 

My Dear Sir: — As to the expediency of establishing 
a school for teachers, I cannot conceive that any 
man who has ever even thought upon the subject of 
education should have a doubt. If he who is to treat 
the ills of the body, and he who is to interpret the 
laws of the land, require a specific and regular training, 
how much more should he v/hose business it is to 
fashion and mould the physical, intellectual and 
moral nature of man while it is yet in a malleable 
state require it ? I hesitate not to say that a school for 
teachers, formed and administered aright, would be 
of as much importance to any State, as the schools for 
Medicine and Law; and that this importance has not 
been felt is only to be accounted for by the fact that 
governments consider the mere material, physical con- 
dition of their subjects as of more consequence than their 
intellectual and moral character; they want fat subjects 
as butchers want fat cattle. 

As far as my own experience goes, the greatest ob- 
stacle in the way of good national education is the want 
of competent and well trained teachers Teach- 
ers have to learn their trade after they begin to practise; 

* Reprinted from Letters and Journals of Samuel Gridley Howe, 
Boston, Dana, Estes, and Company, 1909, by permission of Mrs. 
Laura E. Richards, the editor and holder of the copyright; and (the 
letter of Horace Mann) by permission of Mr. George C. Mann. 



140 S. G. HOWE 

but they have to learn at the expense of their pupils, like 
the barber's apprentice who learns to shave on the chins 
of his master's customers; but with this difference, 
that the apprentice is under the eye of the master, who 
prevents his absolutely cutting throats. 

.... Our present tests of the qualifications of a per- 
son for a teacher is merely to ascertain how much he 
knows, not of men — not of minds — not of the art of 
teaching, but of mathematics, orthography, etymology, 
etc. But all experience tells us that the amount of ac- 
quirements is by no means a test of the qualifications 
for a teacher. A graduate from college who has never 
taught a school thinks, when he begins, that all he has 
got to do is to put into the heads of children part of what 
is in his own; and he toils and sweats and frets, and 
perhaps pounds, for a long time before he discovers 
that there is more to be brought out from the mind of 
children than there is to be driven in. Ceteris paribus, 
I would give double wages to a teacher of twenty years 
old, who had served as usher two years under a good 
master, than I would to one of four and twenty who 
brought an A. M. and M. D., or any diplomas and cer- 
tificates whatever of mere acquirements. 

I could say much more, but it seems a work of 
supererogation at this time of the world's day to 
urge any arguments on the subject. 

With best wishes for your success, I remain, 
dear Sir, 

In great haste. Yours, 

Sam'l G. Howe. 



S. G. HOWE 141 



S. G. HOWE TO CHARLES SUMNER 

Frankfort, Kentucky, Feb. i, 1842. 

lo Pcean! my dear Sumner; we have met the enemy 
and they are ours, body, soul, and purse. 

We had an exhibition yesterday in the hall of the 
House of Representatives, which excited great interest 
and really inspired the Kentucks with enthusiasm. 
To-day a bill passed by acclamation, appropriating 
,^10,000 for the establishment of a school at Louisville, 
to be called the Kentucky Institution for the Education 
of the Blind. There is not a doubt about its success 
in the Senate, for all Frankfort is so interested in the 
blind that I am afraid some mammas will put their 
children's eyes out. Many members who were violently 
opposed to the bill last year declared they would vote 
double the sum asked, if it were needed. 

There was a very interesting debate to-day, in which 
your humble servant was inundated by an avalanche of 
soft soap; the object of the debate was to amend the 
bill by substituting some other town for Louisville as a 
location. A dozen members fought hard, each to have 
the accouchement of the Institution take place in his 
own town; but every one, before he sat down, ex- 
claimed, "Mr. Speaker, I wish the Institution to be 
located in such a place, but understand me, sir — locate 
it where you will, I will hold up both hands and vote 
and pray for it." 



142 S. G. HOWE 

Is not this success enough for one day ?....! 
have the satisfaction of doing the work and want no 
more 

Lieber says you do not know the economy of friend- 
ship. Prove the contrary, and by some proper announce- 
ment of the success, prevent (what will otherwise happen) 
some of our editors from filling their blank space by 
some fulsome paragraph from a western paper, about 
the distinguished philanthropist Doctor Howe, or that 
indefatigable friend of humanity^ etc., etc. — all of which 
I hate. I do assure you, my dear Sumner, the sort of 
vulgar notoriety which follows any movement of this 
kind is a very great drawback to the pleasure of making 
it. To the voice of praise I am sensible, too sensible 
I know; but I do detest this newspaper puffing, and I 
have been put to the blush very often by it. 

I was this day inundated, usque ad nauseam, with 
glorification, by a member who made an otherwise 
very sensible speech. What do you think of insulting 
the memory of the great Howard^ by putting me on 
board the same ship with him for a voyage to immortal- 
ity .? 

One thing delights me — I find that even here in wild 
Kentucky my dear little Laura has many warm friends, 
who inquire eagerly for her welfare. God bless her! 
and do you go to see her, which I take to be a blessing 

to anybody 

S. G. H. 



* John Howard, 1726-1790, the Enghsh philanthropist, famous for 
the important prison reforms which he secured. 



S. G. HOWE 143 



S. G. HOWE TO HORACE MANN 

Sunday, — 1848. 

My Dear Mann: — I have been much exercised in 
spirit about your position, but conclude that you find 
it necessary to maintain it. 

I can understand how poignant must be your grief 
at the thought of leaving the field of your labours; 
but without allowing myself to look back I see much 
in the future to console me. 

I could not say anything last evening, for Charlie 
talks faster and better than I can. May it not be that 
you will do even more for the cause of education out 
of the office of Secretary than in it ? Will not the moral 
effect of your unofficial labours be greater than that of 
your official ones .? Can you not attain a position in 
which you will bring even more official influence to 
bear upon your favorite subject .? 

Should you, as you may, put yourself at the head of 
the great anti-slavery (not abolition) party which is 
growing up here, you can become Governor or anything 
else that you aspire to. It is true that you will aspire 
to nothing but what will give you greater means of 
usefulness, but that very disinterestedness will promote 
your high ends. It appears to me that you should in 
the very outset, in the letter tathe committee of nomina- 
tion, take the high ground you will afterwards maintain. 

It is absurd for me to reach up from my littleness to 



144 S. G. HOWE 

tender counsel to one so high as you, but my love for 
you is as great as though we stood face to face. 

You can afford to trample all doctrines of expediency, 
all trimming, all manoeuvering, all tactics under foot. 
If you have one fault it is over caution; you are not 
reliant enough upon your own powers, — and upon the 
powers of the earnest, honest, noble purposes of your 
mind. I hope you will throw all calculations about 
effect to the winds, and speak right out to the electors 
what your heart prompts you. I hope you will not, as 
Sumner advises, try to write a letter to disarm the liberty 
party, but one that ough.t to do so whether it is likely to 
do so or not. 

Oh! for a man among our leaders who fears neither 
God, man nor devil, but loves and trusts the first so 
much as to fear nothing but what casts a veil over the 
face of truth. We must have done with expediency: 
we must cease to look into history, into precedents, into 
books for rules of action, and look only into the honest 
and high purposes of our own hearts; that is, when we 
are sure we have cast out the evil passions from them. 

Would to God I could begin my life again; or even 
begin a new one from this moment, and go upon the 
ground that no fault or error or shortcoming should 
ever be covered up from my own eyes or those of others. 

I believe you can write a letter that will ring through 
this land like a clarion, and proclaim that a champion 
is entering the political arena with vizor up and with 
no other arms than truth and honesty and courage. 
I know you will do so. I only want to warn you against 
the over activity of your caution. You are too much 



HORACE MANN 145 

afraid of the Devil and his imps; you do not rely enough 
upon your own generous and high impulses. Believe 
me, you need no armour and should fear no open as- 
saults or secret ambuscades. 

However, I need not write any more; all I have said 
is nothing worth except to show you that I am ever and 
most sincerely yours, 

S. G. Howe. 



HORACE MANN TO S. G. HOWE 

Wrentham, May 20th, 1841. 

Dear Howe: — I have read your note with a whirlwind 
of feeling. As to the grateful strain in which it opens, 
I can only say that it reminds me of what in former 
times a Catholic member of the English Parliament said 
to a Protestant, when in discussing some polemical mat- 
ter the latter took occasion formally to thank God that 
he was a Protestant; — whereupon the Catholic retorted 
that the member must needs be a very grateful man to 
thank God for so small a favour. You would put a man 
in rule over many cities because he had been faithful 
over a few wigwams. 

But what scuttles my soul is the idea of your going 
to Spain. Would to God you had inhabitiveness as 
large as a bower-anchor! Why should you go away 
at all } You are doing more good than any other man 
in Boston. At all events, why go to Spain, which I al- 



146 HORACE MANN 

ways think of as a land of monks and duennas ? Your 
moral faculties would perish of inanition; or if they 
broke out into activity, the priests would spit you and 
roast you before a slow fire. . . . o What can you do 
better than to go on in that beneficient ministration in 
which you are now engaged ? What can you do better 
than to push forward any good cause, and to swing your 
thundering great battle-axe against any bad one ? I 
can explain this sudden impulse only on the ground 
of its falling in with your predominant spirit of enter- 
prise and adventure. Had you lived before Columbus, 
you would have anticipated him in his discovery, or 
got the start of Peter in the Crusades. The nineteenth 
century is too late for your military knight-errantry, 
though bent on ever so noble or generous a deed. You 
must tame your war-horse to work in common harness, 
and though he may not become so illustrious with those 
who love the splendid and romantic, yet he will do more 
work than a whole herd of the common breed, and charm 

all the utilitarians to the end of time 

I should rather have built up the Blind Asylum than 
have written Hamlet; and when human vitality gets up 
into the coronal region, everybody will think so. To 
imagine you, like a shot eagle, caged in some old con- 
vent and pecking away at mildewed and dusty parch- 
ments, it turns all my vermicular motions backwards. . . 
But my paper says "jam satis," which, being interpreted, 
means that it is sufficiently jammed, and so must you be. 
I intend to be in on Saturday or Monday. 

Yours ever and in all places, 

Horace Mann. 



EDWARD FITZGERALD 147 



EDWARD FITZGERALD TO BERNARD 
BARTON* 

London, Aprils 1838. 
Dear Sir, 

John', who is going down into Suffolk, will I hope 
take this letter and dispatch it to you properly. I write 
more on account of this opportunity than of anything I 
have to say: for I am very heavy indeed with a kind of 
Influenza, which has blocked up most of my senses, and 
put a wet blanket over my brains. This state of head 
has not been improved by trying to get through a new 
book much in fashion — Carlyle's French Revolution — 
written in a German style. An Englishman writes of 
French Revolutions in a German style. People say 
the book is very deep: but it appears to me that the 
meaning seems deep from lying under mystical language. 
There is no repose, nor equable movement in it; all cut 
up into short sentences, half reflective, half narrative; 
so that one labours through it as vessels do through what 
is called a short sea — small, contrary going waves caused 
by shallows, and straits, and meeting tides, etc. I like 
to sail before the wind over the surface of an even- 
rolling eloquence, like that of Bacon or the Opium Eater. 
There is also pleasant fresh water sailing with such writ- 

* This and the following letters are reprinted from Letters of Edward 
Fitzgerald, 1 894, by permission of The Macmillan Company, New 
York. 

^ Fitzgerald's brother. 



148 EDWARD FITZGERALD 

ers as Addison; is there any />on^/-sailing in literature ? 
that is, drowsy, slow, and of small compass ? Perhaps 
we may say, some Sermons. But this is only con- 
jecture. Certainly Jeremy Taylor rolls along as majes- 
tically as any of them. We have had Alfred Tennyson 
here; very droll, and very wayward: and much sitting 
up of nights till two or three in the morning with pipes 
in our mouths: at which good hour we would get Alfred 
to give us some of his magic music, which he does be- 
tween growling and smoking; and so to bed. All this 
has not cured my Influenza as you may imagine: but 
these hours shall be remembered long after the Influenza 

is forgotten 

With kind remembrances to Miss Barton, believe me. 
Yours very affectionately, 

E. Fitzgerald. 



EDWARD FITZGERALD TO BERNARD 
BARTON 

Bedford, Aug. 31/40. 
Dear Sir, 

I duly received your letter. I am just returned from 
staying three days at a delightful Inn by the river Ouse, 
where we always go to fish. I dare say I have told you 
about it before. The Inn is the cleanest, the sweetest, 
the civillest, the quietest, the liveliest, and the cheapest 
that ever was built or conducted. Its name, the Falcon 
of Bletsoe. On one side it has a garden, then the meadows 



EDWARD FITZGERALD 149 

through which winds the Ouse: on the other, the public 
road, with its coaches hurrying on to London, its market 
people halting to drink, its farmers, horsemen, and foot 
travellers. So, as one's humour is, one can have which- 
ever phase of life one pleases: quietude or bustle; soli- 
tude or the busy hum of men: one can sit in the princi- 
pal room with a tankard and a pipe and see both these 
phases at once through the windows that open upon 
either. But through all these delightful places they 
talk of leading railroads: a sad thing, I am sure: quite 
impolitic. But Mammon is blind. 

I went a week ago to see Luton, Lord Bute's place; 
filled with very fine pictures, of which I have dreamt 
since. It is the gallery in England that I most wish 
to see again: but I by no means say it is the most valu- 
able. A great many pictures seemed to me misnamed 
— especially Correggio has to answer for some he never 
painted. 

I am thinking of going to Naseby^ for a little while: 
after which I shall return here: and very likely find 
my way back to Norfolk before long. At all events, 
the middle of October will find me at Boulge^ unless 
the Fates are very contrary. 



' The field of the Battle of Naseby was a part of his father's estate. 
^ Where he lived after 1835. 



150 EDWARD FITZGERALD 

EDWARD FITZGERALD TO F. TENNYSON 

London, February 6, 1842. 
Dear Frederic, 

These fast-following letters of mine seem intended to 
refute a charge made against me by Morton:^ that 
I had only so much impulse of correspondence as re- 
sulted from the receipt of a friend's letter. Is it very 
frivolous to write all these letters, on no business what- 
soever ? What I think is, that one will soon be going 
into the country, where one hears no music, and sees 
no pictures, and so one will have nothing to write about. 
I mean to take down a Thucydides, to feed on: like a 
whole Parmesan. But at present here I am in London: 
last night I went to see Acis and Galatea brought out, 
with Handel's music, and Stanfield's^ scenery: really 
the best done thing I have seen for many a year. As I 
sat alone (alone in spirit) in the pit, I wished for you: 
and now Sunday is over: I have been to church: I 
have dined at Portland Place^: and now I come home 
to my lodgings: light my pipe: and will whisper some- 

* S. M. Morton, "an Irish Gentleman of Estate and Fortune (which 
of course went the Irish way), who was Scholar, Artist, Newspaper 
Correspondent, etc." Fitzgerald's Letters, Vol. II, p. 141. 

^ Clarkson Stanfield, 1791-1867, who gained his reputation for 
painting scenes as a midshipman, and later became famous through 
his work in the Drury Lane theater. After 1858 he gave up the paint- 
ing of scenes, and began to paint pictures of the sea, for which he is 
now best known. 

^ No. 39, where his father and mother lived. 



EDWARD FITZGERALD 151 

thing over to Italy. You talk of your Naples: and that 
one cannot understand Theocritus without having been 
on those shores. I tell you, you can't understand 
Macready^ without coming to London and seeing his 
revival of Acis and Galatea.^ You enter Drury Lane 
at a quarter to seven: the pit is already nearly full: 
but you find a seat, and a very pleasant one. Box 
doors open and shut: ladies take off their shawls and 
seat themselves: gentlemen twist their side curls: 
the musicians come up from under the stage one by 
one: 'tis just upon seven. Macready is very punctual: 
Mr. T. Cooke is in his place with his marshal's baton 
in his hand: he lifts it up: and off they set with old 
Handel's noble overture. As it is playing, the red velvet 
curtain (which Macready has substituted, not wisely, 
for the old green one) draws apart: and you see a rich 
drop scene, all festooned and arabesqued with River 
Gods, Nymphs, and their emblems; and in the center 
a delightful, large, good copy of Poussin's^ great land- 
scape (of which I used to have a print in my rooms) 
where the Cyclops is seen seated on a mountain, looking 
over the sea-shore. The overture ends, the drop scene 
rises, and there is the sea-shore, a long curling bay: 
the sea heaving under the moon, and breaking upon 
the beach, and rolling the surf down — the stage! This 
is really capitally done. But enough of description. 
The choruses were well sung, well acted, well dressed, 

* William Charles Macready, 1793-1873, the well-known actor. 
^ Acis and Galatea was a pantomime. See the story in Ovid's Meta.' 
mor phases XIII, 735 ff. 

^ Nicolas Poussin, 1594-1665, the French landscape painter. 



152 EDWARD FITZGERALD 

well grouped; and the whole thing creditable and pleasant. 
Do you know the music? It is of Handel's best: and 
as classical as any man who wore a full-bottomed wig 
could write. I think Handel never gets out of his wig: 
that is, out of his age: his Hallelujah chorus is a chorus 
not of angels, but of well-fed earthly choristers, ranged 
tier above tier in a Gothic cathedral, with princes for 
audience, and their military trumpets flourishing over 
the full volume of the organ. Handel's gods are like 
Homer's, and his sublime never reaches beyond the 
region of the clouds. Therefore I think that his great 
marches, triumphal pieces, and coronation anthems, 
are his finest works. There is a little bit of Auber's,* 
at the end of the Bayadere when the God resumes his 
divinity and retires into the sky, which has more of 
pure light and mystical solemnity than anything I 
know of Handel's: but then this is only a scrap: and 
Auber could not breathe in that atmosphere long: 
whereas old Handel's coursers, with necks with thunder 
clothed and long resounding pace, never tire. Beethoven 
thought more deeply also: but I don't know if he could 
sustain himself so well. I suppose you will resent this 
praise of Beethoven: but you must be tired of the whole 
matter, written as it is in this vile hand: and so here is 

an end of it And now I am going to put on my 

night-cap: for my paper is nearly ended, and the iron 
tongue of St. Paul's, as reported by an East wind, has 
told twelve. This is the last news from the city. So 
* Daniel Francois Auber, 1782-1871, the noted French author 
who wrote many operas for the Parisian stage. The one here re- 
ferred to is. Le Dieu et la Bayadere, 1830. 



EDWARD FITZGERALD 153 

Good night. I suppose the violets will be going off in 
the Papal dominions by the time this letter reaches you: 
my country cousins are making much of a few aconites. 
Love to Morton. 

P. S. I hope these foolish letters don't cost you and 
Morton much: I always pay is. jd. for them here: 
which ought to carry such levities to Hindoostan without 
further charge. 



EDWARD FITZGERALD TO GEORGE 
CRABBE 

Market Hill: Woodbridge. Jan. 12/64. 

My dear George, 

.... Have we exchanged a word about Thackeray 
since his death } I am quite surprised to see how I sit 
moping about him: to be sure, I keep reading his Books. 
Oh, the Newcomes are fine! And now I have got hold 
of Pendennis, and seem to like that much more than 
when I first read it. I keep hearing him say so much 
of it; and really think I shall hear his Step up the Stairs 
to this Lodging as in old Charlotte Street thirty years 
ago. Really, a grand Figure has sunk under the Earth. 



154 WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 



WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR TO MISS 
ROSE PAYNTER 

(Bath), Dec. i6 (1838). 
Dear Rose, 

You ought to be very happy, for you have taken all 
our happiness with you, and you know how much there 
was of it. What kindness it is in you to write to me so 
early after your arrival at Paris. When on one side of 
you is sorrow at leaving the most affectionate of mothers 
and sisters; on the other, all the pleasures and all the 
hopes inviting and soliciting you. Consider what a 
precious thing it is to be so beloved by everybody. It 
will never make you proud — may it always make you 
happy. 

You had hardly left Bath before the weather seemed 
to change expressly for your journey. Every cloud 
left the sky — a few were remaining to cover a brow or 
two. Put another red letter to the calendar in your 
pocket-book, for you have performed a miracle. You 
were rather late. The coachman said he could not 
stay another minute; I begged for three, only three, 
and ran like a lamp-lighter up to Gay Street. This 
has perfectly cured my sprain. Happily I had just 
reached York House when your carriage made its ap- 
pearance. How I dreaded a delay which might have 
made the Admiral receive you with somewhat less of 
pleasure in his countenance. On another occasion 
there would not be so very much in this: but there are 
few of us who do not know how a little grief swells a 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 155 

greater. Have you never seen two drops of rain upon 
a w^indow, where the larger has been quiescent until 
the lesser was drawn into it — then it dropped. Know- 
ing the Admiral's exaction of regularity and precision, 
you will acknowledge I had some reason for my appre- 
hensions. But you know also his very great regard 
and affection for you — and you may not know that 
men sometimes look displeased when they are only 

pained 

I have brought your rose-tree into the house this morn- 
ing. It lost its last leaf the day you went. It has now 
put forth a small bud. It ought not to have done so 
until I had received your letter — but perhaps it was 
conscious that I had in fact received several; and this 
before me is only a continuation of the delight they gave 

me You have much to do, much to see, much to 

enjoy: I will not allow you to sacrifice too many hours 
in writing to me: for I know that I always shall possess 
a quiet little nook in your memory, and that you will 
always believe me, Dear Rose, 

Yours very affectionately, 

W. Landor. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE TO MISS 
PEABODY 

Boston, April 17, 1839. 

My Dearest, — I feel pretty secure against intruders, 
for the bad weather will defend me from foreign invasion; 



156 NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

and as to Cousin Haley, he and I had a bitter political dis- 
pute last evening, at the close of which he went to bed in 
high dudgeon, and probably will not speak to me these 
three days. Thus you perceive that strife and wrangling, 
as well as east-winds and rain, are the methods of a kind 
Providence to promote my comfort, — which would not 
have been so well secured in any other way. Six or 
seven hours of cheerful solitude! But I will not be alone. 
I invite your spirit to be with me, — at any hour and as 
many hours as you please, — but especially at the twi- 
light hour, before I light my lamp. I bid you at that 
particular time, because I can see visions more vividly 
in the dusky glow of firelight than either by daylight or 
lamplight. Come, and let me renew my spell against 
headache and other direful effects of the east-wind. 
How I wish I could give you a portion of my insensi- 
bility! and yet I should be almost afraid of some radical 
transformation, were I to produce a change in that 
respect. If you cannot grow plump and rosy and tough 
and vigorous without being changed into another na- 
ture, then I do think, for this short life, you had better 
remain just what you are. Yes; but you will be the 
same to me, because we have met in Eternity, and there 
our intimacy was formed. So get well as soon as you 
possibly can, and I shall never doubt that you are the 
same Sophie who have so often leaned upon my arm and 
needed its superfluous strength. I never, till now, had 
a friend who could give me repose; all have disturbed 
me, and, whether for pleasure or pain, it was still dis- 
turbance- But peace overflows from your heart into 
mine. Then I feel that there is a Now, and that Now 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 157 

must be always calm and happy, and that sorrow and 
evil are but phantoms that seem to flit across it. 

You must never expect to see my sister Elizabeth 
in the daytime, unless by previous appointment or 
when she goes to walk. So unaccustomed am I to 
daylight interviews with her, that I never imagine 
her in sunshine; and I really doubt whether her fac- 
ulties of life and intellect begin to be exercised till dusk, 
unless on extraordinary occasions. Their noon is 
at midnight. I wish you could walk with her; but 
you must not, because she is indefatigable, and always 
wants to walk half round the world when once she is 
out of doors. 

When this week's first letter came, I held it a long 
time in my hand, marvelling at the superscription. 
How did you contrive to write it .? Several times since 
I have pored over it, to discover how much of yourself 
mingled with my share of it; and certainly there is 
grace flung over the fac-simile, which never was seen 
in my harsh, uncouth autograph, and yet none of the 
strength is lost. You are wonderful. 

What a beautiful day! and I had a double enjoy- 
ment of it — for your sake and my own. I have been 
to walk, this afternoon, to Bunker's Hill and the Navy 
Yard, and am tired, because I had not your arm to 
support me. 

God keep you from east-winds and every other evil. 
Your own friend, 

N. H. 



158 MRS. HAWTHORNE 

MRS. HAWTHORNE TO HER MOTHER 

December 27, 1843. 

.... We had a most enchanting time during Mary 
the cook's holiday sojourn in Boston. We remained 
in our bower undisturbed by mortal creature. Mr. 
Hawthorne took the new phasis of housekeeper, and, 
with that marvellous power of adaptation to circum- 
stances that he possesses, made everything go easily 
and well. He rose betimes in the mornings, and kindled 
fires in the kitchen and breakfast-room, and by the time 
I came down, the tea-kettle boiled, and potatoes were 
baked and rice cooked, and my lord sat with a book, 
superintending. Just imagine that superb head peeping 
at the rice or examining the potatoes with the air and 
port of a monarch! And that angelico riso on his face, 
lifting him clean out of culinary scenes into the arc of 
the gods. It was a magnificent comedy to watch him, 
so ready and willing to do these things to save me an 
effort, and at the same time so superior to it all, and 
heroical in aspect, — so unconsonant to what was about 
him. I have a new sense of his universal power from 
this novel phasis of his life. It seems as if there were 
no side of action to which he is not equal, — at home 
among the stars, and, for my sake, patient and effec- 
tive over a cooking-stove. 

Our breakfast was late, because we concluded to 
have only breakfast and dinner. After breakfast, I 
put the beloved study into very nice order, and, after 
establishing him in it, proceeded to make smooth all 



ELIZABETH BARRETT 159 

things below. When I had come to the end of my 
labors, my dear lord insisted upon my sitting with him; 
so I sat by him and sewed, while he wrote, with now and 
then a little discourse; and this was very enchanting. 
At about one, we walked to the village; after three, we 
dined. On Christmas day we had a truly Paradisiacal 
dinner of preserved quince and apple, dates, and bread 
and cheese, and milk. The washing of dishes took 
place in the mornings; so we had our beautiful long 
evenings from four o'clock to ten. At sunset he would 
go out to exercise on his wood-pile. We had no visitors 
except a moment's call from good Mrs. Prescott. . . . 



ELIZABETH BARRETT TO H. S. BOYD 

August 28, 1841. 

My very dear Friend, — I have fluctuated from one 
shadow of uncertainty and anxiety to another, all the 
summer, on the subject to which my last earthly wishes 
cling, and I delayed writing to you to be able to say I am 
going to London. I may say so now — as far as the 
human may say "yes" or "no" of their futurity. The 
carriage, a patent carriage with a bed in it, and set upon 
some hundreds of springs, is, I believe, on its road down 
to me, and immediately upon its arrival we begin our 
journey. Whether we shall ever complete it remains 
uncertain — more so than other uncertainties. My phy- 
sician appears a good deal alarmed, calls it an undertak- 
ing full of hazard, and myself the "Empress Catherine" 



160 ELIZABETH BARRETT 

for insisting upon attempting it. But I must. I go, as 
"the doves to their windows'," to the only earthly day- 
light I see here. I go to rescue myself from the associa- 
tions of this dreadful place. I go to restore to my poor 
papa the companionship of his family. Enough has 
been done and suffered for me. I thank God I am going 
home at last. 

How kind it was in you, my very kind and ever very 
dear friend, to ask me to visit you at Hampstead! I 
felt myself smiling while I read that part of your letter, 
and laid it down and suffered the vision to arise of your 
little room and your great Gregory^ and your dear self 
scolding me softly as in the happy olden times for not 
reading slow enough. Well — we do not know what 
may happen! I may (even that is probable) read to 
you again. But now — ah, my dear friend — if you 
could imagine me such as I am! — ^you would not think 
I could visit you! Yet I am wonderfully better this 
summer; and if I can but reach home and bear the first 
painful excitement, it will do me more good than any- 
thing — I know it will! And if it does not, it will be 
well even so. 

I shall tell them to send you the "Athenaeum" of last 
week, where I have a "House of Clouds^" which papa 

1 Isaiah LX, 8. 

^ See the three Sonnets to Hugh Stuart Boyd; the third begins: 
"Three gifts the Dying left me; vEschylus 
And Gregory Nazianzen, and a clock 
Chiming the gradual hours out like a flock 
Of stars whose motion is melodious." 

^ See the poem in her works. 



ELIZABETH BARRETT 161 

likes so much that he would wish to live in it if it were 
not for the damp. There is not a clock in one room — 
that's another objection. How are your clocks .? Do 
they go .? and do you like their voices as well as you 
used to do } 

I think Annie is not with you; but in case of her 
still being so, do give her (and yourself too) Arabel's* 
love' and mine. I wish I heard of you oftener. Is 
there nobody to write.? May God bless you! 

Your ever affectionate friend, 

E. B. B. 



ELIZABETH BARRETT TO H. S. BOYD 

June 1 8, 1844. 

Thank you, my very dear friend! I write to you 
drunk with Cyprus. 2 Nothing can be worthier of either 
gods or demigods; and if, as you say, Achilles did not 
drink of it, I am sorry for him. I suppose Jupiter 
had it instead, just then — Hebe pouring it, and Juno's 
ox-eyes bellowing their splendour at it, if you will forgive 
me that broken metaphor, for the sake of vEschylus's 
genius, and my own particular intoxication. 

1 Her sister. 

2 See her poem, Wine of Cyprus, beginning: 

"If old Bacchus were the speaker, 
He would tell you with a sigh, 
Of the Cyprus in this beaker 
I am sipping like a fly, — " 



162 MRS. BROWNING 

Indeed, there never was, in modern days, such wine. 
Flush, to whom I offered the last drop in my glass, 
felt it was supernatural, and ran away. I have an 
idea that if he had drunk that drop, he would have 
talked afterwards — either Greek or English^ 

Never was such wine! The very taste of ideal nectar, 
only stiller, from keeping. If the bubbles of eternity 
were on it, we should run away, perhaps, like Flush. 

Still, the thought comes to me, ought I to take it 
from you ? Is it right of me ? are you not too kind in 
sending it ? and should you be allowed to be too kind ? 
In any case, you must not think of sending me more 
than you have already sent. It is more than enough, 
and I am not less than very much obliged to you. 

I have passed the middle of my second volume, and 
I only hope that critics may say of the rest that it smells 
of Greek wine. Dearest Mr. Boyd's 

Ever affectionate, 

E. B. Barrett. 



MRS. BROWNING TO MRS. MARTIN 

Palazzo Guidi: June 20, [1848]. 

My dearest Mrs. Martin, — 

Now I am going to answer your letter, which I all 
but lost, and got ever so many days beyond the right 
day, because you directed it to Mrs. William Browning. 
Pray remember Robert Browning for the future, in right 

^ See her poem, To Flush, my Dog. 



MRS. BROWNING 163 

descent from Robert Brunnyng, the first English poet. 
Mrs. Jameson says, "It's ominous of the actual Robert's 
being the last English poet;" a saying which I give 

you to remember us by, rejecting the omen We 

have grown to be Florentine citizens, as perhaps you 
have heard. Health and means both forbade our 
settlement in England; and the journey backwards 
and forwards being another sort of expense, and very 
necessary with our ties and affections, we had to think 
how to live here, when we were here, at the cheapest. 
The difference between taking a furnished apartment 
and an unfurnished one is something immense. For 
our furnished rooms we have had always to pay some 
four guineas a month; and unfurnished rooms of equal 
pretensions we could have for twelve a year, and the 
furniture (out and out) for fifty pounds. This calcula- 
tion, together with the consideration that we could let 
our apartment whenever we travelled and receive back 
the whole cost, could not choose, of course, but determine 
us. On coming to the point, however, we grew am- 
bitious, and preferred giving five and twenty guineas 
for a noble suite of rooms in the Palazzo Guidi^, a 
stone's throw from the Pitti^, and furnishing them after 
our own taste rather than after our economy, the economy 
having a legitimate share of respect notwithstanding; 
and the satisfactory thing being that the whole expense 
of this furnishing — rococo chairs, spring sofas, carved 
bookcases, satin from cardinals' beds, and the rest — 
is covered by the proceeds of our books during the last 

* See the poem, Casa Gutdi Windows. 

^ The Pitti is the old royal palace, now the famous picture gallery. 



164 MRS. BROWNING 

two winters. This is satisfying, isn't it ^ We shall 
stand safe within the borders of our narrow income 
even this year, and next year comes the harvest! We 
shall go to England in the spring, and return home to 
Italy. Do you understand .? Mr. Kenyon,^ our friend 
and counsellor, writes to applaud — such prudence was 
never known before among poets. Then we have a 
plan, that when the summer (this summer) grows too 
hot, we shall just take up our carpet-bag and Wilson^ 
and plunge into the mountains in search of the monas- 
teries beyond Vallombrosa, from Arezzo go to St. Sepol- 
chro in the Apennines, and thence to Fano on the sea- 
shore, making a round back perhaps (after seeing the 
great fair at Sinigaglia) to Ravenna and Bologna home. 
As to Rome, our plan is to give up Rome next winter, 
seeing that we must go to England in the spring. I 
must see my dearest sisters and whoever else dear will 
see me, and Robert must see his family beside; and 
going to Rome will take us too far from the route and 
cost too much; and then we are not inclined to give 
the first fruits of our new apartment to strangers if 
we could let it ever so easily this year. You can't 
think how well the rooms look already; you must come 
and see them, you and dear Mr. Martin. Three im- 
mense rooms we have, and a fourth small one for a 
book room and winter room — windows opening on a 
little terrace, eight windows to the south; two good 
bedrooms behind, with a smaller terrace, and kitchen, 

1 John Kenyon, 1 784-1 856, the poet and philanthropist, was Miss 
Barrett's cousin. 

2 Her faithful maid. 



GEORGE ELIOT 165 

&., all on a first floor and Count Guidi's favorite suite. 
The Guidi were connected by marriage with the Ugolino 
of Pisa/ Dante's Ugolino, only we shun all traditions 
of the Tower of Famine, and promise to give you ex- 
cellent coffee whenever you will come to give us the 
opportunity. We shall have vines and myrtles and 
orange trees on the terrace, and I shall have a watering- 
pot and garden just as you do, though it must be on 
the bricks instead of the ground. For temperature, 
the stoves are said to be very effective in the winter, 
and in the summer we are cool and airy; the advantage 
of these thick-walled palazzos is coolness in summer 
and warmth in winter. I am very well and quite strong 
again, or rather, stronger than ever, and able to walk 
as far as Cellini's Perseus^ in the moonlight evenings, 
on the other side of the Arno. Oh, that Arno in the 
sunset, with the moon and evening star standing by, 
how divine it is! . . . . 

Think of me as your ever most affectionate 

Ba. 



GEORGE ELIOT TO MISS LEWIS 

1st. Oct. 1841. 

Is not this a true autumn day ? Just the still melan- 
choly that I love — that makes life and nature harmonize. 
The birds are consulting about their migrations, the 

' Ugolino: see the story in Dante's Inferno, XXXIII. 

2 Cellini's statue of Perseus stands in the Loggia dei Lanzi, about 
eight blocks from the Palazzo Guidi. 



166 GEORGE ELIOT 

trees are putting on the hectic or the palHd hues of decay, 
and begin to strew the ground, that one's very footsteps 
may not disturb the repose of earth and air, while they 
give us a scent that is a perfect anodyne to the restless 
spirit. Dehcious autumn! My very soul is wedded 
to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seek- 
ing the successive autumns. 



GEORGE ELIOT TO MISS SARA HENNELL 

Sunday, May, 1844. 

You will soon be settled and enjoying the blessed 
spring and summer time. I hope you are looking for- 
ward to it with as much delight as I. One has to spend 
so many years in learning how to be happy. I am just 
beginning to make some progress in the science, and I 
hope to disprove Young's^ theory that "as soon as we 
have found the key of life it opes the gates of death." 
Every year strips us of at least one vain expectation, 
and teaches us to reckon some solid good in its stead. 
I never will believe that our youngest days are our 
happiest. What a miserable augury for the progress 
of the race and the destination of the individual if the 
more mature and enlightened state is the less happy one! 
Childhood is only the beautiful and happy time in con- 
templation and retrospect- to the child it is fuH of deep 

I Young's Night Thoughts, Bk. IV. 122, 123 reads: 

"And soon as man, expert from time, has found 
The key of life, it opes the gates of death " 



GEORGE ELIOT 167 

sorrows, the meaning of which is unknown. Witness 
cohc and whooping-cough and dread of ghosts, to say 
nothing of hell and Satan, and an offended Deity in the 
sky, who was angry when I wanted too much plumcake. 
Then the sorrows of older persons which children see 
but cannot understand, are worse than all. All this 
to prove that we are happier than when we were seven 
years old, and that we shall be happier when we are 
forty than we are now, which I call a comfortable doc- 
trine, and one worth trying to believe! I am sitting 
with father, who every now and then jerks off my atten- 
tion to the history of Queen Elizabeth, which he is read- 
ing. 



GEORGE ELIOT TO MISS SARA HENNELL 

End of Nov. 1846. 

Many things, both outward and inward, have con- 
curred to make this November far happier than the last. 
One's thoughts "Are widened with the process of the 
suns*;" and if one is rather doubtful whether one is 
really wiser or better, it is some comfort to know that the 
desire to be so is more pure and dominant. I have 
been thinking of that most beautiful passage in Luke's 
GospeP — the appearance of Jesus to the disciples at 
Emmaus. How universal in its significance! The soul 
that has hopelessly followed its Jesus — its impersonation 

' Tennyson's Lockshy HaU, 141. 
2 Luke XXIV, 13-31. 



168 GEORGE ELIOT 

of the highest and best — all in despondency; its thought 
all refuted, its dreams all dissipated. Then comes an- 
other Jesus — another, but the same — the same highest 
and best, only chastened — crucified instead of trium- 
phant — and the soul learns that this is the true way to 
conquest and glory. And then there is the burning 
of the heart, which assures that "this was the Lord"! 
— that this is the inspiration from above, the true com- 
forter that leads unto truth. But I am not become a 
Methodist, dear Sara; on the contrary, if I am pious 
one day, you may be sure that I was very wicked the 
day before, and shall be so again the next. 



GEORGE ELIOT TO MISS MARY 
SIBREE 

loth. May^ 1847. 

It is worth while to forget a friend for a week or ten 
days, just for the sake of the agreeable kind of startle 
it gives one to be reminded that one has such a treasure 
in reserve — the same sort of pleasure, I suppose, that a 
poor body feels who happens to lay his hand on an un- 
dreamed-of sixpence which had sunk to a corner of 
his pocket. When Mr. Sibree brought me your parcel, 
I had been to London for a week; and having been 
full of Mendelssohn oratorios and Italian operas, I had 
just this kind of delightful surprise when I saw your 
note and the beautiful purse. Not that I mean to com- 
pare you to a sixpence; you are a bright, golden sover- 



GEORGE ELIOT 169 

eign to me, with edges all unrubbed, fit to remind a 
poor, tarnished, bruised piece, like me, that there are 
ever fresh and more perfect coinages of human nature 
forthcoming. I am very proud of my purse — first, be- 
cause I have long had to be ashamed of drawing my old 
one out of my pocket; and, secondly, because it is a 
sort of symbol of your love for me — and who is not proud 
to be loved ? For there is a beautiful kind of pride at 
which no one need frown — I may call it a sort of imper- 
sonal pride — a thrill of exultation at all that is good 
and lovely and joyous as a possession of our human 
nature. 



GEORGE ELIOT TO MISS SARA HENNELL 

28th Oct. 1849. 

I like my town life vastly. I shall like it still better 
in the winter. There is an indescribable charm to me 
in this form of human nest-making. You enter a by no 
means attractive-looking house, you climb up two or 
three flights of cold, dark-looking stone steps, you ring 
at a very modest door, and you enter a set of rooms, 
snug, or comfortable, or elegant. One is so out of reach 
of intruders, so undiverted from one's occupations by 
externals, so free from cold, rushing winds through hail 
doors — one feels in a downy nest high up in a good- old 
tree. I have always had a hankering after this sort of 
life, and I find it a true instinct of what would suit me. 
Just opposite my window is the street in which the Sis- 



170 THE REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY 

ters of Charity live, and, if I look out, I generally see 
either one of them or a sober-looking ecclesiastic. Then 
a walk of five minutes takes me out of all streets, within 
sight of beauties that I am sure you too would love, 
if you did not share my enthusiasm for the town. I have 
not another minute, having promised to go out before 
dinner — so, dearest, take my letter as a hasty kiss, just 
to let you know how constantly I love you — how, the 
longer I live and the more I have felt, the better I know 
how to value you. 

THE REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY TO 
MR. WOOD 

EVERSLEY, August 5, 1 842. 

Peter! — ^Whether in the glaring saloons of Almack's^ 
or making love in the equestrian stateliness of the park, 
or the luxurious recumbency of the ottoman, whether 
breakfasting at one, or going to bed at three, thou art still 
Peter, the beloved of my youth, the staff of my academic 
days, the regret of my parochial retirement! — Peter! 
I am alone! Around me are the everlasting hills, and 
the everlasting bores of the country! My parish is 
peculiar for nothing but want of houses and abundance 
of peat bogs; my parishioners remarkable only for aver- 

^William Almack (d. 1781) was the founder of many Lon- 
don clubs, and, after 1763, the man to whom fashionable London 
looked for its amusement. He built in 1764 the famous Assembly 
Rooms in King's Street, St. James, where, until 1840, very exclusive 
balls were held weekly during twelve weeks of the season. 



THE REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY 171 

sion to education, and a predilection for fat bacon. I 
am wasting my sweetness on the desert air — I say my 
sweetness, for I have given up smoking, and smell no 
more. Oh, Peter, Peter, come down and see me! O 
that I could behold your head towering above the fir- 
trees that surround my lonely dwelling. Take pity 
on me! I am "like a kitten in the washhouse copper 
v/ith the lid on!" And, Peter, prevail on some of your 
friends here to give me a day's trout-fishing, for my hand 
is getting out of practise. But, Peter, I am, consider- 
ing the oscillations and perplex circumgurgitations of 
this piece-meal world, an improved man. I am much 
more happy, much more comfortable, reading, think- 
ing, and doing my duty — much more than ever I did 
before in my life. Therefore I am not discontented 
with my situation, or regretful that I buried my first- 
class in a country curacy, like the girl who shut herself 
up in a band-box on her wedding night (vide Rogers's 
Ttaly'). And my lamentations are not general (for I 
do not want an inundation of the froth and tidewash 
of Babylon the Great), but particular, being solely 
excited by want of thee, oh Peter, who art very pleasant 
to me, and wouldst be more so if thou wouldst come 
and eat my mutton, and drink my wine, and admire 
my sermons, some Sunday at Eversley. 

Your faithful friend, 

Boanerges' Roar-at-the-Clods. 



' See Mark III, 17. 



172 THOMAS HOOD 

THOMAS HOOD TO MAY 

17, Elm Tree Road, St. John's Wood, 

Monday, April^ 1844. 
My dear May, — 

I promised you a letter, and here it is. I was sure to 
remember it; for you are as hard to forget, as you are 
soft to roll down a hill with. What fun it was! only so 
prickly, I thought I had a porcupine in one pocket, and 
a hedgehog in the other. The next time, before we kiss 
the earth, we will have its face shaved well. Did you 
ever to go Greenwich Fair .? I should like to go there 
with you, for I get no rolling at St. John's Wood. Tom 
and Fanny only like roll and butter, and as for Mrs. 
Hood, she is for rolling in money. 

Tell Dunnie that Tom has set his trap in the balcony 
and has caught a cold, and tell Jeanie that Fanny has 
set her foot in the garden, but it has not come up yet. 
Oh, how I wish it was the season when "March winds 
and April showers bring forth May flowers!" for then 
of course you would give me another pretty little nose- 
gay. Besides it is frosty and foggy weather, which I do 
not like. The other night, when I came from Strat- 
ford, the cold shriveled me up so, that when I got home, 
I thought I was my own child! 

However, I hope we shall all have a merry Christ- 
mas; I mean to come in my most ticklesome waist- 



THOMAS HOOD 173 

coat, and to laugh till I grow fat, or at least streaky. 
Fanny is to be allowed a glass of wine, Tom's mouth is 
to have a hole holiday, and Mrs. Hood is to sit up for 
supper! There will be doings! And then such good 
things to eat; but, pray, pray, pray, mind they don't 
boil the baby by a mistake for a plump pudding, instead 
of a plum one. 

Give my love to everybody, from yourself down to 
Willy, with which and a kiss, I remain, up hill and down 
dale, 

Your affectionate lover, 

Thomas Hood. 



THOMAS HOOD TO MAY 

Devonshire Lodge, New Finchley Road, 

July 1st, 1844. 
My dear May, 

How do you do, and how do you like the sea ? not 
much perhaps, it's 'so big.' But shouldn't you Hke a 
nice little ocean, that you could put in a pan ? Yet the 
sea, although it looks rather ugly at first, is very useful, 
and, if I were near it this dry summer, I would carry 
it all home, to water the garden with at Stratford, and 
it would be sure to drown all the blights, May-^\ts and 
all! 

I remember that, when I saw the sea, it used some- 
times to be very fussy, and fidgety, and did not always 
wash itself quite clean; but it was very fond of fun. 



174 THOMAS HOOD 

Have the waves ever run after you yet, and turned your 
two little shoes into pumps full of water ? 

There are no flowers I suppose, on the beach, or I 
would ask you to bring me a bouquet as you used at 
Stratford. But there are little crabs! If you would 
catch one for me, and teach it to dance the Polka, 
it would make me quite happy; for I have not had any 
toys, or play-things for a long time. Did you ever try, 
like a little crab, to run two ways at once ? see if you 
can do it, for it is good fun; never mind tumbling over 
yourself a little at first. It would be a good plan 
to hire a little crab, for an hour a day, to teach baby to 
crawl, if he can't walk, and, if I was his mamma, I 
would too! Bless him! But I must not write on him 
any more — he is so soft, and I have nothing but steel 
pens. 

And now good-by, Fanny has made my tea and I 
must drink it before it gets too hot; as we all were last 
Sunday week. They say the glass was 88 in the shade, 
which is a great age! The last fair breeze I blew dozens 
of kisses for you, but the wind changed, and I am afraid 
took them all to Miss H — , or somebody that it shouldn't. 
Give my love to everybody, and my compliments to 
all the rest, and remember, I am, my dear May, 
Your loving friend, 

Thomas Hood. 

P. S. — Don't forget my little crab to dance the Polka, 
and pray write to me as soon as you can't if it's only a 
line. 



THOMAS HUXLEY 175 



THOMAS HUXLEY TO HIS SISTER* 

(H. M. S. Rattlesnake, Oct., 1846.) 

My dearest Lizzie — At last I have really got my ap- 
pointment and joined my ship. I was so completely dis- 
gusted with the many delays that had occurred that I 
made up my mind not to write to anybody again until I 
had my commission in my hand. Henceforward, like 
another Jonah, my dwelling-place will be the "inwards" 
of the Rattlesnake, and upon the whole I really doubt 
whether Jonah was much worse accommodated, so far 
as room goes, than myself. My total length, as you are 
aware, is considerable, 5 feet 11 inches, possibly, but the 
height of the lower deck of the Rattlesnake, which will be 
my special location, is at the outside 4 feet 10 inches. 
What I am to do with the superfluous foot I cannot 
divine. Happily, however, there is a sort of skylight into 
the berth, so I shall be able to sit with the body in it and 
my head out. 

Apart from joking, however, this is not such a great 
matter, and it is the only thing I would see altered in 
the whole affair. The officers, as far as I have seen 
them, are a very gentlemanly, excellent set of men, and 
considering we are to be together for four or five years, 
that is a matter of no small importance. I am not 
given to be sanguine, but I confess I expect a good deal 

* This and the following are reprinted from Life and Letters of 
Thomas Henry Huxley, copyright, 1900, by D. Appletonand Company. 



176 THOMAS HUXLEY 

to arise out of this appointment. In the first place, 
surveying ships are totally different from the ordinary 
run of men-of-war. The requisite discipline is kept up 
but not in the martinet style. Less form is observed. 
From the men who are appointed having more or less 
scientific turns, they have more respect for one another 
than that given by mere position in the service, and 
hence that position is less taken advantage of. They 
are brought more into contact, and hence those engaged 
in the surveying service almost proverbially stick by 
one another. To me, whose interest in the service 
is almost all to be made, this is a matter of no small 
importance. 

Then again, in a surveying ship you can work. In 
an ordinary frigate if a fellow has the talents of all the 
scientific men from Archimedes' downwards compressed 
into his own particular skull they are all lost. Even 
if it were possible to study in a midshipman's berth, 
you have not room in your "chat" for more than a 
dozen books. But in the Rattlesnake the whole poop 
is to be converted into a large chart-room with book- 
shelves and tables and plenty of light. There I may 
read, draw, or microscopise at pleasure, and as to books, 
I have a carte blanche from the Captain to take as many 
as I please, of which permission we shall avail ourself 
— rather — and besides all this, from the peculiar way 
in which I obtained this appointment, I shall have a 
much wider swing than assistant surgeons in general 

*287?-2i2 B.C., the most celebrated geometrician and mechanician 
of antiquity, said to have discovered the principles of the lever and of 
the water-screw. 



THOMAS HUXLEY 177 

get. I can see clearly that certain branches of the natural 
history work will fall into my hands if I manage properly 
through Sir John Richardson, who has shown himself 
a very kind friend all throughout, and also through 
Captain Stanley I have been introduced to several 
eminent zoologists — to Owen and Gray and Forbes of 
King's College. From all these men much is to be 
learnt which becomes pecuHarly my own, and can of 
course only be used and applied by me. From Forbes 
especially I have learned and shall learn much with 
respect to dredging operations (which bear on many 
of the most interesting points of zoology). In conse- 
quence of this I may very likely be entrusted with the 
carrying of them out, and all that is so much the more 
towards my opportunities. Again, I have learnt the 
calotype process for the express purpose of managing 
the calotype apparatus, for which Captain Stanley has 
applied to the Government. 

And having once for all enumerated all these meaner 
prospects of mere personal advancement, I must confess 
I do glory in the prospect of being able to give myself 
up to my own favorite pursuits without thereby neglect- 
ing the proper duties of life. And then perhaps by the 
following of my favorite motto, — 

Wie das Gestim, 
Ohne Hast, 
Ohne Rast— 

something may be done, and some of Sister Lizzie's 
fond imaginations turn out not altogether untrue. 
I perceive that I have nearly finished a dreadfully 



178 THOMAS HUXLEY 

egotistical letter, but I know you like to hear of my 
doings, so shall not apologise. Kind regards to the 
Doctor and kisses to the babbies. Write me a long 
letter all about yourselves. — 

Your affect, brother, 

T. H. Huxley. 



THOMAS HUXLEY TO MISS HEATHORN 

On Board H. M. S. Rattlesnake , Christmas, 1847. 

Next summer it will be six years since I made my first 
trial in the world. My first public competition, small 
as it was, was an epoch in my life. I had been attend- 
ing (it was my first summer session) the botanical lec- 
tures at Chelsea. One morning I observed a notice 
stuck up — a notice of a public competition for medals, 
etc., to take place on the ist August (if I recollect right). 
It was then the end of May or thereabouts. I remember 
looking longingly at the notice, and some one said to me, 
"Why don't you go in and try for itV* I laughed at 
the idea, for I was very young, and my knowledge some- 
what of the vaguest. Nevertheless I mentioned the 
matter to S^ when I returned home. He likewise ad- 
vised me to try, and so I determined I would. I set to 
work in earnest, and perseveringly applied myself to 
such works as I could lay my hands on, Lindley's and 
Decandolle's Systems and the Annales des Sciences 
* KQs brother-in-law, John Godwin Scott. 



THOMAS HUXLEY 179 

Naturelles in the British Museum. I tried to read 
Schleiden, but my German was insufficient. 

For a young hand I worked really hard from eight or 
nine in the morning until twelve at night, besides a long 
hot summer's walk over to Chelsea two or three times 
a week to hear Lindley. A great part of the time I 
worked till sunrise. The result was a sort of ophthalmia 
which kept me from reading at night for months after- 
wards. 

The day of examination came, and as I went along 
the passage to go out I well remember dear Lizzie^, 
half in jest, half in earnest, throwing her shoe after me, 
as she said, for luck. She was alone, beside S., in the 
secret, and almost as anxious as I was. How I reached 
the examination room I hardly know, but I recollect 
finding myself at last with pen and ink and paper be- 
fore me and five other beings, all older than myself, 
at a long table. We stared at one another like strange 
cats in a garret, but at length the examiner (Ward) en- 
tered, and before each was placed the paper of questions 
and sundry plants. I looked at my questions, but for 
some moments could hardly hold my pen, so extreme 
was my nervousness; but when I once fairly began, 
my ideas crowded upon me almost faster than I could 
write them. And so we all sat, nothing heard but the 
scratching of the pens and the occasional crackle of the 
examiner's Times as he quietly looked over the news 
of the day. 

The examination began at eleven. At two they 
brought in lunch. It was a good meal enough, but the 
^ His sister, Mrs. Scott. 



180 THOMAS HUXLEY 

circumstances were not particularly favorable to en- 
joyment, so after a short delay we resumed our work. 
It began to be evident between whom the contest lay, 
and the others determined that I was one man's com- 
petitor and Stocks (he is now in the East India service) 
the other. Scratch, scratch, scratch! Four o'clock 
came, the usual hour of closing the examination, but 
Stocks and I had not half done, so with the consent of 
the others we petitioned for an extension. The examiner 
was willing to let us go on as long as we liked. Never 
did I see a man write like Stocks; one might have taken 
him for an attorney's clerk writing for his dinner. We 
went on. I had finished a little after eight, he went on 
till near nine, and then we had tea and dispersed. 

Great were the greetings I received when I got home, 
where my long absence had caused some anxiety. The 
decision would not take place for some weeks, and many 
were the speculations made as to the probabilities of 
success. I for my part managed to forget all about it, 
and went on my ordinary avocations without troubling 
myself more than I could possibly help about it. I knew 
too well my own deficiencies to have been either sur- 
prised or disappointed at failure, and I made a point 
of shattering all involuntary "castles in the air" as soon 
as possible. My worst anticipations were realized. 
One day S. came to me with a sorrowful expression 
of countenance. He had inquired of the Beadle as to 
the decision, and ascertained on the latter's authority 
that all the successful candidates were University Col- 
lege men, whereby, of course, I was excluded. I said, 
"Very well, the thing was not to be helped," put my 



THOMAS HUXLEY 181 

best face upon the matter, and gave up all thoughts of 
it. Lizzie, too, came to comfort me, and, I believe, 
felt it more than I did. What was my surprise on re- 
turning home one afternoon to find myself suddenly 
seized, and the whole female household vehemently 
insisting on kissing me. It appeared an official-look- 
ing letter had arrived for me, and Lizzie, as I did 
not appear, could not restrain herself from opening it. 
I was second, and was to receive a medal accordingly, 
and dine with the Guild on the 9th November to have 
it bestowed. 

I dined with the company, and bore my share in both 
pudding and praise, but the charm of success lay in 
Lizzie's warm congratulation and sympathy. Since 
then she always took upon herself to prophesy touching 
the future fortunes of "the boy." 



THOMAS HUXLEY TO HIS MOTHER 

Sidney, Feb. i, 1849. 

First and foremost, my dear mother, I must thank 
you for your very kind letter of September 1848. I 
read the greater part of it to Nettie, who was as much 
pleased as I with your kindly wishes towards both of us. 
Now I suppose I must do my best to answer your ques- 
tions. First, as to age, Nettie is about three months 
younger than myself — that is the difference in our years, 
but she is in fact as much younger than her years as I 
am older than mine. Next, as to complexion she is 



182 THOMAS HUXLEY 

exceedingly fair, with the Saxon yellow hair and blue 
eyes. Then as to face, I really don't know whether she 
is pretty or not. I have never been able to decide the 
matter in my own mind. Sometimes I think she is, 
and sometimes I wonder how the idea ever came into 
my head. Whether or not, her personal appearance has 
nothing whatever to do with the hold she has upon my 
mind, for I have seen hundreds of prettier women. 
But I never met with so sweet a temper, so self-sacrificing 
and affectionate a disposition, or so pure and womanly 
a mind, and from the perfectly intimate footing on which 
I stand with her family I have plenty of opportunities 
of judging. As I tell her, the only great folly I am aware 
of her being guilty of was the leaving her happiness in 
the hands of a man like myself, struggling upwards and 
certain of nothing. 

As to my future intentions I can say very little about 
them. With my present income, of course, marriage 
is rather a bad look out, but I do not think it would be 
at all fair towards N. herself to leave this country with- 
out giving her a wife's claim upon me It is very 

unlikely that I shall ever remain in the colony. Nothing 
but a very favorable chance could induce me to do so. 

Much must depend upon how things go in England. 
If my various papers meet with any success, I may 
perhaps be able to leave the service. At present, how- 
ever, I have not heard a word of anything I have sent. 
Professor Forbes has, I believe, published some of 
MacGillivray's letters to him, but he has apparently 
forgotten to write to MacGillivray himself, or to me. 
So I shall certainly send him nothing more, especially 



THOMAS HUXLEY 183 

as Mr. MacLeay (of this place, and a great man in the 
naturalist world) has offered to get anything of mine 
sent to the Zoological Society. 

THOMAS HUXLEY TO PROFESSOR 
ROMANES 

4 Marlborough Place, May 9, 1882. 

My dear Romanes — I feel it very difficult to offer any 
useful criticism on what you have written about Darwin, 
because, although it does not quite please me, I cannot 
exactly say how I think it might be improved. My own 
way is to write and rewrite things, until by some sort of 
instinctive process they acquire the condensation and 
symmetry which satisfies me. And I really could not 
say how my original drafts are improved until they 
somehow improve themselves. 

Two things however strike me. I think there is 
too much of the letter about Henslow. I should be 
disposed to quote only the most characteristic passages. 

The other point is that I think strength would be 
given to your panegyric by a little pruning here and there. 

I am not likely to take a low view of Darwin's position 
in the history of science, but I am disposed to think 
that Buffon and Lamarck would run him hard in both 
genius and fertility. In breadth of view and in extent 
of knowledge these two men were giants, though we are 
apt to forget their services. Von Bar was another man 
of the same stamp; Cuvier, in a somewhat lower rank, 
another; and J. Muller another. 



184 THOMAS HUXLEY 

"Colossal" does not seem to me to be the right epithet 
for Darwin's intellect. He had a clear rapid intelligence, 
a great memory, a vivid imagination, and what made 
his greatness was the strict subordination of all these 
to his love of truth. 

But you will be tired of my carping, and you had much 
better write what seems right and just to yourself. — 
Ever yours very faithfully, 

T. H. Huxley. 



THOMAS HUXLEY TO HIS YOUNGEST 
DAUGHTER 

4 Marlborough Place, N. W., April 12, 1883. 

Dearest Pabelunza — I was quite overcome to-day to 
find that you had vanished without a parting embrace to 
your "faded but fascinating"^ parent. I clean forgot 
you were going to leave this peaceful village for the whirl 
of Gloucester dissipation this morning — and the traces 
of weeping on your visage, which should have reminded 
me of our imminent parting, were absent. 

My dear, I should like to have given you some good 
counsel. You are but a simple village maiden — don't 
be taken by the appearance of anybody. Consult your 

^ A fragment of feminine conversation overheard at the Dubh'n 
meeting of the British Association, 1878: '''Oh, there comes Professor 
Huxley: faded, but still fascinating." 



THOMAS HUXLEY 185 

father — inclosing photograph and measurement (in 
inches) — in any case of difficulty. 

Also give my love to the matron your sister, and tell 
her to look sharp after you. Treat her with more 
respect than you do your venerable P. — whose life will 
be gloom hidden by a film of heartless jests till you 
return. 

Item. — Kisses to Ria and Co. — Your desolated Pater. 



THOMAS HUXLEY TO SIR JOSEPH 
HOOKER 

Eastbourne, Jan. 13, 1890. 

My dear Hooker — .... We missed you on the 2nd, 
though you were quite right not to come in that beastly 
weather. 

My boy Harry has had a very sharp attack of influenza 
at Bartholomew's, and came down to us to convalesce 
a week ago, very much pulled down. I hope you will 
keep clear of it. 

H.'s work in the hospital is over at the end of March, 
and before the influenza business I was going to give him 
a run for a month or six weeks before he settled down 
to practice. We shall go to the Canaries as soon in 
April as possible. Are you minded to take a look at 
Teneriff^e ^ Only 4 J days' sea — good ships. — Ever yours 
affectionately, 

T. H. Huxley. 



186 THOMAS HUXLEY 

THOMAS HUXLEY TO HIS YOUNGER 
SON 

Eastbourne, Jan. 30, 1890. 

You DEAR Old Humbug of a Boy — Here we have been 
mourning over the relapse of influenza, w^hich alone, as 
we said, could have torn you from your duties, and all the 
while it was nothing but an attack of palpitation such as 
young people are liable to and seem none the worse for 
after all. We are as happy that you are happy as you 
can be yourself, though from your letter that seems say- 
ing a great deal. I am prepared to be the young lady's 
slave; pray tell her that I am a model father-in-law, with 
my love. (By the way, you might mention her name; 
it is a miserable detail, I know, but would be interesting.) 
Please add that she is humbly solicited to grant leave of 
absence for the Teneriff'e trip, unless she thinks North- 
allerton air more invigorating. — Ever your loving dad, 

T. H. Huxley. 

THOMAS HUXLEY TO HIS WIFE 

Guimar, 1890. 

Catch me going out of the reach of letters again. I 
have been horribly anxious. Nobody — children or 
anyone else — can be to me what you are. Ulysses pre- 
ferred his old woman to immortality, and this absence 
has led me to see that he was as wise in that as in other 
things 



THOMAS HUXLEY 187 



THOMAS HUXLEY TO A YOUNG 
AMERICAN 

HoDESLEA, Jan. 31, 1895. 

Dear Sir — I should have been glad if you had taken the 
ordinary, and, I think convenient course of writing for 
my permission before you sent the essay which has 
reached me, and which I return by this post. I should 
then have had the opportunity of telling you that I do 
not undertake to read, or take any charge of such mat- 
ters, and we should both have been spared some trouble. 

I the more regret this, since being unwilling to return 
your work without examination, I have looked at it, 
and feel bound to give you the following piece of advice, 
which I fear may be distasteful, as good counsel gener- 
ally is. 

Lock up your essay. For two years — if possible, 
three — read no popular expositions of science, but de- 
vote yourself to a course of sound practical instruction 
in elementary physics, chemistry, and biology. 

Then re-read your essay; do with it as you think best; 
and, if possible, regard a little more kindly than you are 
likely to do at present. Yours faithfully, 

T. H. Huxley. 



188 EMILY DICKINSON 

EMILY DICKINSON TO HER BROTHER* 

[South Hadley, Autumn, 1847.] 

Thursday Noon. 

My dear Brother Austin, — I have not really a mo- 
ment of time in which to write you, and am taking time 
from 'silent study hours;' but I am determined not to 
break my promise again, and I generally carry my reso- 
lutions into effect. I watched you until you were out of 
sight Saturday evening, and then went to my room and 
looked over my treasures; and surely no miser ever 
counted his heaps of gold with more satisfaction than I 
gazed upon the presents from home 

I can't tell you now how much good your visit did 
me. My spirits have wonderfully lightened since then. 
I had a great mind to be homesick after you went home, 
but I concluded not to, and therefore gave up all home- 
sick feelings. Was not that a wise determination .?.... 

There has been a menagerie here this week. Miss 
Lyon provided 'Daddy Hawks' as a beau for all the 
Seminary girls who wished to see the bears and monkeys, 
and your sister, not caring to go, was obliged to decline 
the gallantry of said gentleman, — which I fear I may 
never have another opportunity to avail myself of. The 
whole company stopped in front of the Seminary and 
played for about a quarter of an hour, for the pur- 
pose of getting custom in the afternoon, I opine. Al- 

* This and the following letters are from Emily Dickinsons Letters, 
copyright, 1894, by Roberts Brothers. 



EMILY DICKINSON 189 

most all the girls went; and I enjoyed the solitude 
finely. 

I want to know when you are coming to see me again, 
for I want to see you as much as I did before. I went 

to see Miss F. in her room yesterday I love her 

very much, and think I shall love all the teachers when I 
become better acquainted with them and find out their 
ways, which, I can assure you, are almost 'past finding 
out.' 

I had almost forgotten to tell you of a dream which 
I dreamed last night, and I would like to have you turn 
Daniel and interpret it to me; or if you don't care about 
going through all the perils which he did, I will allow 
you to interpret it without, provided you will try to tell 
no lies about it. Well, I dreamed a dream, and lo! 
father had failed, and mother said that 'our rye-field, 
which she and I planted, was mortgaged to Seth Nims.' 
I hope it is not true; but do write soon and tell me, 
for you know I should expire of mortification to have 
our rye-field mortgaged, to say nothing of its falling 
into the merciless hands of a loco! 

Won't you please to tell me when you answer my 
letter who the candidate for President is ? I have been 
trying to find out ever since I came here, and have not 
yet succeeded. I don't know anything more about 
affairs in the world than if I were in a trance, and you 
must imagine with all your 'Sophomoric discernment' 
that it is but little and very faint. Has the Mexican 
War terminated yet, and how ? Are we beaten ? Do 
you know of any nation about to besiege South Hadley ? 
If so, do inform me of it, for I would be glad of a chance 



190 EMILY DICKINSON 

to escape, if we are to be stormed. I suppose Miss 
Lyon would furnish us all with daggers and order us 
to fight for our lives in case such perils should befall 

us Miss F. told me if I was writing to Amherst 

to send her love. Not specifying to whom, you may 
deal it out as your good sense and discretion prompt. 
Be a good boy and mind me! 



EMILY DICKINSON TO HER BROTHER 

[Amherst, October 2, 1851.] 

Wednesday Noon. 

We are just through dinner, Austin, I want to write 
so much that I omit digestion, and a dyspepsia will 

probably be the result I received your letter 

yesterday You say we mustn't trouble to send 

you any fruit, also your clothes must give us no uneasi- 
ness. I don't ever want to have you say any more such 
things. They make me feel like crying. If you'd only 
teased us for it, and declared that you would have it, 
I shouldn't have cared so much that we could find no 
way to send you any, but you resign so cheerfully your 
birthright of purple grapes, and do not so much as mur- 
mur at the departing peaches, that I hardly can taste 
the one or drink the juice of the other. They are so 
beautiful, Austin, — we have such an abundance 'while 
you perish with hunger.* 

I do hope some one will make up a mind to go be- 
fore our peaches are quite gone. The world is full of 



EMILY DICKINSON 191 

people travelling everywhere, until it occurs to you that 
you will send an errand, and then by 'hook or crook' 
you can't find any traveller who, for money or love, 
can be induced to go and carry the opprobrious package. 
It's a very selfish age, that is all I can say about it. Mr 

Storekeeper S has been 'almost persuaded' to go, 

but I believe he has put it off 'till a more convenient 
season,' so to show my disapprobation I shan't buy any 

more gloves at Mr S 's store! Don't you think it 

will seem very cutting to see me pass by his goods and 

purchase at Mr K 's ? I don't think I shall retract 

should he regret his course and decide to go to-morrow, 
because it is the principle of disappointing people which 
I disapprove! .... 

The peaches are very large — one side a rosy cheek, 
and the other a golden, and that peculiar coat of velvet 
and of down which makes a peach so beautiful. The 
grapes, too, are fine, juicy, and such a purple — I fancy 
the robes of kings are not a tint more royal. The vine 
looks like a kingdom, with ripe round grapes for kings, 
and hungry mouths for subjects — the first instance on 
record of subjects devouring kings! You shall have 
Borne grapes, dear Austin, if I have to come on foot 
in order to bring them to you. 

The apples are very fine — it isn't quite time to pick 
them — the cider is almost done — we shall have some 
I guess by Saturday, at any rate Sunday noon. The 
vegetables are not gathered, but will be before very 
long. The horse is doing nicely; he travels 'like a 
bird' to use a favorite phrase of your delighted mother's. 
You ask about the leaves — shall I say they are falling f 



192 EMILY DICKINSON 

They had begun to fall before Vinnie and I came home, 
and we walked up the steps through little brown ones 

rustling 

Vinnie tells me she has detailed the news — she re- 
served the deaths for me, thinking I might fall short 
of my usual letter somewhere. In accordance with her 
wishes I acquaint you with the decease of your aged 

friend Deacon . He had no disease that we know of, 

but gradually went out Monday evening we 

were all startled by a violent church-bell ringing, and 
thinking of nothing but fire, rushed out in the street to 
see. The sky was a beautiful red, bordering on a crim- 
son, and rays of a gold pink color were constantly shoot- 
ing off from a kind of sun in the centre. People were 
alarmed at this beautiful phenomenon, supposing that 
fires somewhere were coloring the sky. The exhi- 
bition lasted for nearly fifteen minutes, and the streets 
were full of people wondering and admiring. Father 
happened to see it among the very first, and rang the 
bell himself to call attention to it. You will have a 
full account from the pen of Mr Trumbull, who, I have 
not a doubt, was seen with a long lead pencil a-noting 

down the sky at the time of its highest glory 

You will be here now so soon — we are impatient for 
it — we want to see you, Austin, how much I cannot say 
here. 

Your affectionate 

Emily. 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 193 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 
TO MR. AND MRS. BROOKFIELD 

Hotel des Pays Bas, Spa. 

August 1st to 5th, 1848. 
My dear friends — 

Whoever you may be who receive these lines, — for 
unless I receive a letter from the person whom I pri- 
vately mean, I shall send them post-paid to some- 
body else, — I have the pleasure to inform you, that on 
yesterday, the 30th, at 7 A. M., I left Brussels, with 
which I was much pleased, and not a little tired, and 
arrived quite safe per railroad and diligence at the water- 
ing place of Spa. I slept a great deal in the coach, 
having bought a book at Brussels to amuse me, and 
having for companions, three clergymen (of the deplorable 
Romish faith) with large idolatrous three-cornered hats, 
who read their breviaries all the time I was awake, and 
I have no doubt gave utterance to their damnable Popish 
opinions when the stranger's ears were closed; and lucky 
for the priests that I was so situated, for speaking their 
language a great deal better than they do themselves 
(being not only image-worshippers but Belgians, whose 
jargon is as abominable as their superstition) I would 
have engaged them in a controversy, in which I daresay 
they would have been utterly confounded by one who 
had the Thirty-nine Articles of truth on his side. Their 
hats could hardly get out of the coach door when they 
quitted the carriage, and one of them, when he took off 



194 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

his, to make a parting salute to the company, quite ex- 
tinguished a Httle passenger. 

We arrived at Spa at two o'clock, and being driven 
on the top of the diligence to two of the principal hotels, 
they would not take me in as I had only a little port- 
manteau, or at least only would offer me a servant's 
bedroom. These miserable miscreants did not see by my 
appearance that I was not a flunkey, but on the con- 
trary, a great and popular author; and I intend to have 
two fine pictures painted when I return to England, 
of the landlord of the Hotel d'Orange refusing a bed- 
chamber to the celebrated Titmarsh, and of the pro- 
prietor of the Hotel d'York, offering Jeames a second- 
floor back closet. Poor misguided people! It was on 
the 30th July 1848. The first thing I did after at length 
securing a handsome apartment at the Hotel des Pays 
Bas, was to survey the town and partake of a glass of 
water at the Pouhon well, where the late Peter the Great, 
the imperator of the Bo-Russians appears also to have 
drunk; so that two great men at least have refreshed 
themselves at that fountain. I was next conducted to 
the baths, where a splendid concert of wind and stringed 
instruments was performed under my window, and 
many hundreds of gentle-folks of all nations were con- 
gregated in the public walk, no doubt to celebrate my 
arrival. They are so polite however at this place of 
elegant ease, that they didn't take the least notice of the 
Illustrious Stranger, but allowed him to walk about 
quite unmolested and, (to all appearance) unremarked. 
I went to the table d'hote with perfect affability, just 
like an ordinary person; an ordinary person at the table 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 195 

d'hdtey mark the pleasantry. If that joke doesn't make 
your sides ache, what, my dear friend, can move you ? 
We had a number of good things, fifteen or sixteen too 
many, I should say. I was myself obhged to give in at 
about the twenty-fifth dish; but there was a Flemish 
lady near me, a fair blue-eyed being, who carried on 
long after the English author's meal was concluded, 
and who said at dinner to-day, (when she beat me by at 
least treble the amount of victuals) that she was languid 
and tired all day, and an invalid, so weak and delicate 

that she could not walk 

I retired to my apartment at seven, with the same book 
which I had purchased, and which sent me into a second 
sleep until ten when it was time to go to rest. At eight 
I was up and stirring, at 8:30 I was climbing the brow 
of a little mountain which overlooks this pretty town, 
and whence, from among firs and oaks, I could look 
down upon the spires of the church, and the roofs of 
the Redoute, and the principal and inferior buildings 
and the vast plains, and hills beyond, topped in many 
places with pine woods, and covered with green crops 
and yellow corn. Had I a friend to walk hand in hand 
with, him or her, on these quiet hills, the promenade 
methinks might be pleasant. I thought of many such 
as I paced among the rocks and shrubberies. Break- 
fast succeeded that solitary, but healthy reverie, when 
coffee and eggs were served to the Victim of Sentiment. 
Sketch-book in hand, the individual last alluded to set 
forth in quest of objects suitable for his pencil. But it 
is more respectful to Nature to look at her and gaze with 
pleasure, rather than to sit down with pert assurance, and 



196 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

begin to take her portrait. A man who persists in sketch- 
ing, is like one who insists on singing during the per- 
formance of an opera. What business has he to be trying 
his stupid voice I He is not there to imitate, but to ad- 
mire to the best of his power. Thrice the rain came 
down and drove me away from my fooHsh endeavours, 
as I was making the most abominable caricatures 
of pretty, quaint cottages, shaded by huge ancient 
trees. 

In the evening was a fine music at the Redoute, which 
being concluded, those who had a mind were free to re- 
pair to a magnificent neighbouring saloon, superbly 
lighted, where a great number of persons were assembled 
amusing themselves, round two tables covered with 
green cloth and ornamented with a great deal of money. 
They were engaged at a game which seems very simple; 
one side of the table is marked red and the other black, 
and you have but to decide which of the red or the 
black you prefer, and if the colour you choose is turned 
up on the cards, which a gentleman deals, another gen- 
tleman opposite to him gives you five francs, or a napo- 
leon or whatever sum of money you have thought fit 
to bet upon your favourite colour. 

But if your colour loses, then he takes your napoleon. 
This he did, I am sorry to say, to me twice, and as I 
thought this was enough, I came home and wrote a 
letter, full of nonsense to . 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 197 



WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY TO 
MRS. BROOKFIELD 

Wednesday, 1849. 

What have I been doing since these many days ? 
I hardly know. I have written such a stupid number 
of Pendennis in consequence of not seeing you, that I 
shall be ruined if you are to stay away much longer . . . . 
Has William written to you about our trip to Hamp- 
stead on Sunday .? It was very pleasant. We went 
first to St. Mark's Church, where I always thought 
you went, but where the pew opener had never heard 
of such a person as Mrs. J. O. B.; and having heard a 
jolly and perfectly stupid sermon, walked over Prim- 
rose Hill to the Crowes' where His Reverence gave Mrs. 
Crowe half an hour's private talk, whilst I was talking 
under the blossoming apple tree about newspapers to 
Monsieur Crowe. Well, Mrs. Crowe was delighted with 
William and his manner of discoorsing her; and indeed 
though I say it that shouldn't, from what he said after- 
wards, and from what we have often talked over pipes 
in private, that is a pious and kind soul. I mean his, 
and calculated to soothe and comfort and appreciate 
and elevate so to speak out of despair, many a soul that 
your more tremendous, rigorous divines would leave 
on the wayside, where sin, that robber, had left them 
half killed. I will have a Samaritan parson when I 
fall among thieves. You, dear lady, may send for an 
ascetic if you like; what is he to find wrong in you ? 



198 WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 

I have talked to my mother about her going to Paris 
with the children, she is very much pleased at the notion, 
and it v^on't be very lonely to me. I shall be alone for 
some months at any rate, and vov^ and sv^ear I'll save 
money Have you read Dickens ? O! it is charm- 
ing! brave Dickens! It has some of his very prettiest 
touches — those inimitable Dickens touches which make 
such a great man of him; and the reading of the book 
has done another author a great deal of good. In 
the first place it pleases the other author to see that 
Dickens, who has long left off alluding to the A's works, 
has been copying the O. A., and greatly simplifying his 
style, and overcoming the use of fine words. By this 
the public will be the gainer and David Copperfield 
will be improved by taking a lesson from Vanity Fair. 
Secondly it has put me upon my metal; for ah! Madame, 
all the metal was out of me and I have been dreadfully 
and curiously cast down this month past. I say, sec- 
ondly, it has put me on my metal and made me feel 
I must do something; that I have fame and name and 
family to support 

I have just come away from a dismal sight; Gore 
House^ full of snobs looking at the furniture. Foul 
Jews; odious bombazine women, who drove up in mys- 
terious flys which they had hired, the wretches, to be 
fine, so as to come in state to a fashionable lounge; 
brutes keeping their hats on in the kind old drawing 
room, — I longed to knock some of them off, and say, 

* Gore House formerly stood on the site of the Albert Memorial; 
it was then owned by the Countess of Blessington and was a resort 
of the literary men of London. 



CHARLOTTE BRONTE 199 

'Sir, be civil in a lady's room' .... There was one of 
the servants there, not a powdered one, but a butler, 
a whatdyoucallit. My heart melted towards him and 
I gave him a pound. Ah! it was a strange, sad picture 
of Fanity Fair. My mind is all boiling up with it; 

indeed, it is in a queer state I give my best 

remembrances to all at Clevedon Court. 



CHARLOTTE BRONTE TO ELLEN 

NUSSEY 

Haworth, December 19, 1849. 
Dear Ellen, — 

Here I am at Haworth once more. I feel as if I had 
come out of an exciting whirl. Not that the hurry or 
stimulus would have seemed much to one accustomed 
to society and change, but to me they were very marked. 
My strength and spirits too often proved quite insufficient 
for the demand on their exertions. I used to bear up 
as well and as long as I possibly could, for, whenever I 
flagged, I could see Mr. Smith became disturbed; he 
always thought that something had been said or done 
to annoy me, which never once happened, for I met with 
perfect good breeding even from antagonists — men who 
had done their best or worst to write me down. I 
explained to him, over and over again, that my occa- 
sional silence was only failure of the power of talk, never 
of the will 

Thackeray is a Titan of mind. His presence and 



200 GEORGE BANCROFT 

powers impress me deeply in an intellectual sense; I 
do not see him or know him as a man. All the others 
are subordinate to these. I have esteem for some, 
and, I trust, courtesy for all. I do not, of course, know 
what they thought of me, but I believe most of them 
expected me to come out in a more marked, eccentric, 
striking light. I believe they desired more to admire 
and more to blame. I felt sufficiently at my ease with 
all except Thackeray, and with him I was fearfully 
stupid 



GEORGE BANCROFT TO M. H. GRIN- 
NELL* 

New York, January 20, 1855. 

If I had ships sailing to the Indies, lines of packets 
to Liverpool, stocks that give dividends, a finger in the 
purse of Fortunatus, or a bit of land in El Dorado, I 
would respond to your note with cheerfulness in the 
manner you wish; but in hard times, a scholar is the 
first to feel the pressure, for men are unwise enough to 
think a book the first luxury that can be given up, and 
women always regard it as a nuisance because it gathers 
so much dust; therefore moderate as the sum alluded 
to may seem, it is out of my power to advance it, and 
I have no doubt that those who incurred the unexpected 
excess of expense will think it proper to protect the inno- 

* From The Life and Letters of George Barter of ty copyright, 1908. 
by Charles Scribner's Sons, New York. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 201 

cent stockholders. Under other circumstances I would 
not have hesitated a moment, but I am ever, my dear Sir, 
Very truly yours, 

George Bancroft. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD TO MRS. FORSTER* 

January 21, 1859. 

My dearest K. — Tell my dearest mother I have written 
so little of late because I am overwhelmed with grammar 
papers to be looked over, and not choosing as I grow 
older, and my time shortens, to give up my own work en- 
tirely for any routine business, I have a hard time of it 
just at present. When I have finished these papers I have 
a General Report and a Training School Report to get out 
of hand, the inspection of schools going on alongside 
of this all the while, so at the beginning of next month, 
when my office work is again reduced to inspecting, 

I shall feel myself quite a free man 

I must stop. You can't think how nicely the two boys 
go on with Mrs. Querini, their governess. From my 
little study I can hear all that passes. She said to 
Budge this morning, "Who do you love best of anybody 
in the world ?" "Nobody at all," says Budge. "Yes," 
says Mrs. Querini, "you love your papa and mama." 
"Well," says Budge. "But," goes on Mrs. Querini, 

* This and the following letters are reprinted from Letters of Matthew 
Arnold^ 1895, by permission of The Macmillan Company, New York. 



202 MATTHEW ARNOLD 

**you are to love God more than any one, more even than 
your papa and mama." "No, I shan't," says Budge. 
Jolly little heathen. My love to all. — 

I am ever your most affectionate 

M. A. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD TO MISS ARNOLD 

CoBHAM, New Year's Day, 1882. 

My dearest F\n — A happy New Year to you! I think 
the beginning of a New Year very animating, it is so 
visible an occasion for breaking off bad habits and 
carrying into effect good resolutions. I am glad to 
find that in the past year I have at least accomplished 
more than usual in the way of reading the books which 
at the beginning of the year I had put down to be read. 
I always do this, and I do not expect to read all I put 
down, but sometimes I fall much too short of what 
I proposed, and this year things have been a good 
deal better. The importance of reading, not slight 
stuff to get through the time, but the best that has 
been written, forces itself upon me more and more 
every year I live; it is living in good company, the 
best company, and people are generally quite keen 
enough, or too keen, about doing that, yet they will 
not do it in the simplest and most innocent manner by 
reading. However, if I live to be eighty I shall probably 
be the only person left in England who reads anything 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 203 

but newspapers and scientific publications. We have 
Nelly at home again; she enjoyed herself greatly at 
the Goschens', and they were very kind to her. Mr. 
Goschen danced the polka with her, she being the only 
young lady on whom he bestowed this mark of favour. 
They wanted her to stay over the New Year with them, 

but she said she must go home She certainly 

is both gay herself and makes other young people so. 
We have had a pleasant week, not one single rainy day; 
but to-day it has begun to rain — thermometer 47. The 
primroses are coming out in all directions, and so is the 
pyrus japonica. We have also our first camelia out. 
Now I must stop. — 

Ever your most affectionate 

M. A. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD TO MRS. FORSTER 

Hartford, Connecticut, 

November 15, 1883. 

My dearest K. — I am hard driven, but there is no 
one at home who so often comes into my mind, I think, 
over here as your dear, dear self, and I must scratch 
you a line at any rate. We are here with a nice old 
couple called Clark. We met their daughter in New 
York. This is said to be, for its size, the richest town 
in New England, and Mr. Clark was the richest mer- 
chant in it. He has retired from business, is seventy- 
seven years old, and occupies himself in good works. 



204 MATTHEW ARNOLD 

It is exactly like the wealthy Quaker families I have 
stayed in when inspecting in England; only Mr. Clark 
is much more free in his religious ideas than they were, 
and the whole family have, compared with our middle 
class at home, that buoyancy, enjoyment, and free- 
dom from constraint which are everywhere in America, 
and which confirmed me in all I have said about the 
ways in which the aristocratic class acts as an incubus 
upon our middle class at home. This universal en- 
joyment and good nature are what strike one most 
here. On the other hand, some of the best English 
qualities are clean gone; the love of quiet and dislike 
of a crowd is gone out of the American entirely. They 
say Washington had it, as our Lord Althrop had it, 
and so many of us have it still in England; but I have 
seen no American yet, except Norton' at Cambridge, 
who does not seem to desire constant publicity and 
to be on the go all the day long. It is very fatiguing. 
I thank God it only confirms me in the desire to "hide 
my life", as the Greek philosopher recommended, 
as much as possible. They are very kind, incon- 
ceivably kind, and one must have been accustomed 
to the total want of real popular interest among the 
English at home in anything but politics to feel the 
full difference of things here. The newspapers re- 
port all one's goings about and sayings — the Com- 
modore at Newport sends to put his launch at my 
disposal, Blaine telegraphs to the New York press his 
regrets that he cannot come up on purpose to hear 
'Charles Eliot Norton, 1827-1909, American scholar, editor, trans- 
lator, and Professor of the History of Art in Harvard University. 



MATTHEW ARNOLD 205 

me lecture, General Grant thanks the Tribune for re- 
porting me so fully — and so on. It is perfectly astound- 
ing, but there is not much real depth in it all. I have 
liked best a visit to Dartmouth College in New Hamp- 
shire. You remember how papa talked of New Hamp- 
shire and said he would emigrate there if he emigrated 
to the States at all. I stayed with a professor, a widower, 
in a small way of life, and saw what this small way was — 
it is better than with us. Still, what we call a gentle- 
man has a tremendous pull in the old world — or at any 
rate in England — over the gentleman here. What it 
is in the towns, to have practically no cabs and to be 
obliged to use trams, you cannot imagine. It is as if 
in our Stockwell expedition we had had to get there by 
the tram, with two or three changes, and a walk at each 
end, and the chance of bad weather. And every one 
has to use these who has not a carriage. It is the best 
country for a Rothschild I ever knew, his superior pull 
is so manifest. We stayed with a sort of Rothschild 
on the Hudson — a Delano married to an Astor; but he 
grumbled, ungrateful man, because every one took a 
right of way through his grounds just as they pleased. 
But what made me think of you was the living power 
which papa's memory was still in that New Hamp- 
shire community at Dartmouth College. All through 
New England, however, he has had a prodigious effect, 
and perhaps he, like Luther, has been less pushed out 
by new men and new things than in the old world. Flu 
and Lucy enjoy it af, I think, though they get very tired. 
We had an immense reception here last night — the 
Governor and Senator for this sterling little old State 



206 MATTHEW ARNOLD 

of Connecticut, and every one thence downwards. 
The night before last I dined and slept at Barnum's. 
He said my lecture was ** grand," and that he was 
determined to belong to the remnant; that term is going 
the round of the United States, and I understand what 
Dizzy^ meant when he said that I performed "a great 
achievement" by launching phrases. My love to Wil- 
liam. Tell him it is curious to find how one is driven 
here to study the ''technique" of speaking, and how one 
finds that it may be learnt like other things. I could 
not half make myself heard at first, but I am improv- 
ing. A Professor Churchill, said to be "the best elo- 
cutionist in the United States," came twice from An- 
dover to Boston on purpose to try and be of use to me, 
because, he said, he had got more pleasure from F. 
Robertson^, Ruskin, and me than from any other men. 
This will give you a good notion of their kindness. Now 
I must stop. We go to Boston tomorrow, then on Mon- 
day back to New York. Love to all your dear party. 
Your most affectionate brother, 

M. A. 



^ The nickname commonly given to Benjamin Disraeli, 1804-1881, 
the EngHsh statesman. 

^Frederick William Robertson, 18 16-1853, a British clergyman 
whose ministry at Trinity Chapel, Brighton, was one of great power 
and wide influence. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 207 



JOHN GREENLEAF V/HITTIER TO 
GRACE GREENWOOD* 



loth mo., 1864. 

My dear sister's^ illness was painful and most dis- 
tressing, yet she was patient, loving, and cheerful even 
to the last. How much I miss her! how much less I 
have now to live for. But she is at rest; surely, few 
needed it or deserved it more, if it were proper to speak 
of desert in that connection. A pure, generous, loving 
spirit was hers. I shall love all her friends better for 
her sake. The autumn woods are exceedingly beauti- 
ful at this time. I miss dear Elizabeth to enjoy them 
with me, but even now I realize the truth of Keats' 
line, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever," and I am 
thankful that I can still find peace in communion with 
outward nature in this season of glory and beauty. I 
wonder sometimes that I can be cheerful and attend 
to my daily duties, since life has lost so much of its ob- 
ject. But I have still many blessings, — kind friends 
and books, and the faith that God is good, and good only. 



* This and the following letters are reprinted from Life and Letters 
of John Greenleaf Whittier, 1894, by permission of Houghton Mifflin 
Company, Boston. 

- See his characterization of her in Snow Bound. 



208 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO 
LUCY LARCOM 

4th mo., i6, 1867. 

The spring delays — the time of mayflowers has nearly 
come, but they are not quite ready yet. I would like 
to have thee up here at the time of their blossoming. 
The snow still lies in the woods of Follymill. To-day 
winter has come back again, and a wind of despair 
blows out of the bitter east. I have read and done noth- 
ing for a long time. It seems a poor life of idleness, 
but I do not see how I can help it. I have had a great 
many strangers coming to look at me, and make speeches 
to me. It's a sort of thing to make one feel sadly mean 
and ridiculous. I envy the stout, steel-muscled farmers. 
I would rather chop wood than talk poetry with strangers. 
And indeed I think the life of a hard-working farmer or 
mechanic altogether more enviable than that of a writer 
or politician. Not but that poetry has been a great 
solace and refreshing, at times, to me; and I am grate- 
ful for the gift of verse which has been vouchsafed to me. 
But Plato and old Mr. Weller, I fear, are right in their 
discouragement of poets. 



JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER 209 

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER TO 
CELIA THAXTER 

7th mo., 28, 1870. 

Be thankful for sea-surrounded Appledorel We are 

literally baking alive here I spent the night like 

a wandering ghost, going from room to room, trying 
sofa and floors, and getting no sleep out of them. We 
have had a splendid daybreak, but there is now a fierce 
menace of heat, and not *' tenderly the haughty day fills 
its blue urn with fire^. " Over Po Hill the sky looks 
cool and hard, refreshing to eye and spirit, and the two 
great rustic baskets full of bloom and greenery, with 
their fresh luxuriance, make a pleasant contrast to the 
hot street and the dusty trees and shrubbery in the front 
yard. My little room is quiet enough. Lizzie^ is at 
Seabrook, and I am all alone. The sweet calm face of 
the pagan philosopher and emperor, Marcus Antoninus, 
looks down upon me on one hand, and on the other the 
bold, generous, and humane countenance of the Christian 
man of action, Henry Ward Beecher; and I sit between 
them as a sort of compromise. It is very still — the leaves 
move softly without sound; I can hear my own thoughts. 

How I thank thee for thy letter just received, 

bringing me the sweet breath of wild rose and mignonette. 
It is as if the cool sea air of the islands blew over this 
feverish inland, and I bathe my hot, aching brow for 

^ One of the Isles of Shoals, off the coast of New Hampshire. 
^ From Emerson's Ode, Concord, July 4, 1857. 
^ His brother's daughter, Mrs. Pickard, who was for twenty years a 
member of his household. 



210 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

a moment in the dream of a milder atmosphere. Pil- 
grims come and go, as usual, and now and then old 
friends. Mrs. Pitman spent most of two days with me, 
and Lucy Larcom one. An old bachelor friend came to 
tell me of his newly resumed hopes of matrimony. It 
was very droll. 



ABRAHAM LINCOLN TO MRS. BIXBY* 

Executive Mansion, Washington, 

November 21, 1864. 
Mrs. Bixby, 

Boston, Massachusetts. 
Dear Madam: I have been shown in the files of the 
War Department a statement of the Adjutant-General of 
Massachusetts that you are the mother of five sons who 
have died gloriously on the field of battle. I feel how 
weak and fruitless must be any words of mine which 
should attempt to beguile you from the grief of a loss so 
overwhelming. But I cannot refrain from tendering to 
you the consolation that may be found in the thanks of 
the Repubhc they died to save. I pray that our heavenly 
Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, 
and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved 
and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to 
have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom. 
Yours very sincerely and respectfully, 
Abraham Lincoln. 

* Reprinted from Abraham Lincoln, Complete Works, 1894, by 
permission of The Cenliir}^ Company, New York. 



LOUISA ALCOTT 211 



LOUISA ALCOTT TO HER SISTER* 

(Date uncertain; 1865 ?) 

My Lass, — This must be a frivolous and dressy letter, 
because you always want to know about our clothes, and 
we have been at it lately. May's bonnet is a sight for 
gods and men. Black and white outside, with a great 
cockade boiling over the front to meet a red ditto surging 
from the interior, where a red rain-bow darts across the 
brow, and a surf of white lace foams up on each side. I 
expect to hear that you and John fell flat in the dust with 
horror on beholding it. 

My bonnet has nearly been the death of me; for, 
thinking some angel might make it possible for me to go 
to the mountains, I felt a wish for a tidy hat, after wear- 
ing an old one till it fell in tatters from my brow. Mrs. 
P. promised a bit of gray silk, and I built on that; but 
when I v/ent for it I found my hat was founded on sand; 
for she let me down with a crash, saying she wanted the 
silk herself, and kindly off"ering me a flannel petticoat 
instead. I was in woe for a spell, having one dollar 
in the world, and scorning debt even for that prop of 
life, a *' bonnet. '* Then I roused myself, flew to Dodge, 
demanded her cheapest bonnet, found one for a dollar, 
took it, and went home wondering if the sky would open 
and drop me a trimming. I am simple in my tastes, 

* From Life, Letters, and Journals of Louisa M. Alcoit, copy- 
right, 1889, by J. S. P. Alcott; published by Little, Brown, and 
Company, Boston. 



212 LOUISA ALCOTT 

but a naked straw bonnet is a little too severely chaste 
even for me. Sky did not open; so I went to the "Wid- 
ow Cruise's oil Bottle" — my ribbon box — which, by the 
way, is the eighth wonder of the world, for nothing is 
ever put in, yet I always find some old dud when all 
other hopes fail. From this salvation bin I extracted 
the remains of the old white ribbon (used up, as I thought, 
two years ago), and the bits of black lace that have 
adorned a long line of departed hats. Of the lace I 
made a dish, on which I thriftily served up bows of rib- 
bon, like meat on toast. Inside put the lace bow, which 
adorns my form anywhere when needed. A white 
flower A. H. gave me sat airily on the brim, — fearfully 
unbecoming, but pretty in itself, and in keeping. Strings 
are yet to be evolved from chaos. I feel that they await 
me somewhere in the dim future. Green ones pro tern. 
hold this wonder of the age upon my gifted brow, and I 
survey my hat with respectful awe. I trust you will 
also, and see in it another great example of the power 
of mind over matter, and the convenience of a colossal 
brain in the primeval wrestle with the unruly atoms 
which have harassed the feminine soul ever since Eve 
clapped on a modest fig-leaf and did up her hair with a 
thorn for a hairpin. 

I feel very moral to-day, having done a big wash alone, 
baked, swept the house, picked the hops, got dinner, 
and written a chapter in "Moods." May gets exhausted 
with work, though she walks six miles without a murmur. 

It is dreadfully dull, and I work so that I may not 
"brood." Nothing stirring but the wind; nothing to 
see but dust; no one comes but rose-bugs; so I grub 



LOUISA ALCOTT 213 

and scold at the" A" because it takes a poor fellow's tales 
and keeps 'em years without paying for 'em. If I think 
of my woes I fall into a vortex of debts, dishpans, and 
despondency awful to see. So I say, "every path has 
its puddle," and try to play gayly with the tadpoles 
in my puddle, while I wait for the Lord to give me a lift, 
or some gallant Raleigh to spread his velvet cloak and 
fetch me over dry shod. 

L. W. adds to my woe by writing of the splendors of 
Gorham, and says," when tired, run right up here and 
find rest among these everlasting hills." All very aggra- 
vating to a young woman with one dollar, no bonnet, 
half a gown, and a discontented mind. It's a mercy 
that mountains are everlasting, for it will be a century 
before / get there. Oh, me, such is life! 

Now I've done my Jeremiad, and I will go on twang- 
ing my harp in the "willow tree." 

You ask what I arti writing. Well, two books half 
done, nine stories simmering, and stacks of fairy stories, 
moulding on the shelf. I can't do much, as I have no 
time to get into a real good vortex. It unfits me for work, 
worries Ma to see me look pale, eat nothing, and ply 
by night. These extinguishers keep genius from burning 
as I could wish, and I give up ever hoping to do anything 
unless luck turns for your 



Lu. 



214 J. R. GREEN 



J. R. GREEN TO E. A. FREEMAN* 

St. Philip's, Stepney, January 29, 1869. 

My dear Freeman — 

.... I am forgetting the proof of the Epiphany- 
Coronation*, of the style of which I wanted to say some- 
what. Oddly enough, its tone reminded me of my 
sermons when I was a deacon, it wanted measure and 
variety. I was thinking about style the other day, and 
it seemed to me that David's notion of a procession ex- 
pressed my notion of style, "the singers go before, the 
minstrels follow after, in the midst are the damsels 
playing on the timbrels." Now you give us the singers, 
capital "anthems" they sing, but there is a certain want 
of the plain prose of the minstrels, and I haven't caught 
a note of the timbrels. No doubt you will say that 
I give the world quite enough of the damsels myself! 
But seriously I often wish in the middle of a grand page 
that you would write as you talk, with all the variety 
and impulsiveness and humour of your conversation. 
"Strenuous" is a good title for a king, but hardly so 
excellent for a writer. Perhaps it is a slight remnant 
of the "dignity of history" feeling that makes us all 

* This and the following letters are reprinted from Letters of John 
Richard Green, 1901, by permission of The Macmillan Company, New 
York. 

^Refers to the proof of Freeman's account in the Norman Conquest 
of the coronation of Harold on January 6. 



J. R. GREEN 215 

go a little a-tiptoe! At any rate that particular proof 
did seem to me very rhetorical and monotonous in style, 
and to want a good deal of cutting down. 

As to the facts, my mind is so disturbed by the thought 
that before Wulfhere* made me what I am I was a West 
Saxon that I fear to commit either of my selves and will 
give no verdict till I look them up for the close of my 
little volume^. I think it likely I may he free in a month 
or so to set about it. Macmillan is willing enough. 
Good-bye. 

Ever yours, dear Freeman, 

J. R. Green. 



J. R. GREEN TO MISS LOUISE VON GLEBN 

(1869.) 

Thanks, dear Louise, for the paper of notes 

(My notes) are simply hints for good English not got at 
in a day. Simplicity is half of it, I think, and in simplicity 
I am as far to seek as anybody. But the true way to 
write well is to write constantly, — ease of style can only 
come by habit; and grace of style can only come of 

ease Above all, don't let any idle fun of mine 

make you think me careless about your work. I am 

^ Refers to the victory of Wulfhere, king of Mercia, over the West 
Saxons in 661. 

^ Short History of the English People, which appeared in 1874, 
aod which from 1877-1880 he expanded into the larger work, 



216 J. R. GREEN 

quite certain that earnestness of aim and energy of 
spirit lie at the root of right womanhood as of right man- 
hood. If I laugh, — it is only by way of protest against 
the occasional exaggeration even of earnestness. Grace 
of temper, beauty of tone, are of the essence of life as 
they are of the essence of style, — and there is sometimes 
more to be learnt out of books than in books. But 
perhaps these thoughts are thoughts that come later 
than twenty, and I am exacting in asking for a balance 
and moderation, a just appreciation of the true con- 
ditions of life, which only time and a bitter experience 
can give. It is sorrow that gives the capacity for laugh- 
ter, I think ; it is the darkness and the brokenness and 
the disappointment of life that enable one to look on 
coolly and with a smile even when one is most in earnest. 
Neither toil nor the end of toil in oneself or in the world 
is all vanity, — in spite of the preacher, — but there is 
enough vanity in both to make one sit loose to them. 

What seems to grow fairer to me as life goes by is the 
love and peace and tenderness of it; not its wit and 
cleverness and grandeur of knowledge, grand as knowl- 
edge is, but just the laughter of little children and the 
friendship of friends and the cosy talk by the fireside 

and the sight of flowers and the sound of music 

— Believe me, yours, 

J. R. G. 



J. R. GREEN 217 



J. R. GREEN TO MISS VON GLEBN 

Villa Congreve, San Remo, 

November 28, 1870. 

I have just come in from such a glorious sunset, dear 
Olga, a sunset yet more glorious than the sunsets of 
the Lagoon, those fatal sunsets to me. The circle of 
hills around lay soft and dusk with olive woods, their 
barer rocks bathed in deep orange, and beyond — be- 
tween them and the waning blue of the sky — lay a range 
of further hills glowing with intense rose light. And all 
around the horizon a band of pale orange parted the 
sea from the sky. I shouted with joy as I hung over 
the balcony, watching till all was gray, and the cool 
night drove me in. 

It is so pleasant reading your letter over again — just 
as if we were chatting together in our frivolous way, 
despised of Louise and the wiser sort. Ah, well, dear 
Olga, the time will come when these wise ones will be 
glad to be frivolous too. Let them have their wisdom 
now, poor things! To-day I have been chatting with a 

Bishop, and am very frivolous Yesterday (I 

was at Church, you sceptical person!) he treated us to 
some remarks on "We brought nothing into this world, 
and certainly we shall carry nothing out." "Yes, my 
brethren," he said cheerfully, "we brought sin into 
this world, and we may carry sin out!" Don't you en- 
joy it ? I fed on that sentence all the quiet Sunday even- 
ing. 



218 J. R. GREEN 

Your industry rebukes me dreadfully. But what can 
I do ? "My tub is on the sea," as Byron sings, the tub 
in which I packed books, papers, clothes, everything. 
I am like Mariana, and sing, "it cometh not," from my 
moated grange. I sit there day by day, hatless, shirt- 
less, bootless, bookless, and watch "the stately ships 
go on to their haven under the hill" of San Remo, 
"but oh for the sight of a vanished tub, or the news of a 
bark that lies still!" "Tennyson is a sweet poet," 
a girl said to me to-day, "you can always find a verse 
of his for every feeling, every event. " There are many 
theories about the tub. Some say it remains in the 
British docks. Some, that it has been seen at Marseilles 
serving as a barricade for the Reds. One bold man 
reports it to have been seen floating in the Bay of Biscay 
with a cynical figure peeping out of it, who on being 
hailed replied, "I am the ghost of a Saturday Reviewer." 
Luckily nothing is of any particular importance in this 
world. I read my Virgil calmly by the sea beach, and 
watch the stately ships go on. 

We are here in the most charming villa in all San Remo, 
with the most agreeable of men, laughing, chatting, 
idling the long day through. The rain seems to have 
cleared away, but really it is very hard to grumble at 
rain which never keeps you in the whole day, which calls 
for no great-coat, and leaves beauty and colour in earth 
and sea and sky. However it is fine at last, and in its 
stead is the soft sunshine and fresh bright air. I have 
quite got over my little tumble back, the result of a wild 
rush up to a hill village, and am getting on marvellously. 
Yes, you may drink my Burton! Drop a tear in the 



J. R. GREEN 219 

bowl, Olga, as you quaff the nectar, a tear of sweet re- 
solve to write to him who drank that Burton in happier 
days at once. And do write chatty letters. There are 
none I like so much. Tell me all about everybody. 
I am bothered by the coming of the Taits. I know my 
attractions, but they might have chosen some other spot. 
Am I to be driven to wear a white tie — to talk of Voy- 
seyS and to chaperon Miss Spooner ? Never, ye Gods! 
However, they have put themselves in Cook's charge — 
says scandal — so they may perhaps never arrive. Fly, 
gloomy thought! Good-bye, dear Olga, give my love 
and kind memories to all at the Hill of Peak, and be- 
lieve me ever your affectionate friend, 

J. R. Green. 



J. R. GREEN TO MISS LOUISE VON 
GLEBN 

Villa Congreve, San Remo, December 21, 1870. 

I have never given you a peep at our social life here, 
dear Louise. As to women-kind our range is more 
extensive than varied. Mrs. A. is a good-natured vale- 
tudinarian who talks you dead. Her daughter reminds 

^ Charles Voysey (b. 1828), was a minister in the church of England 
who had been ejected from a living in London for preaching against 
endless punishment. He had then gone to Yorkshire, and was at the 
date of this letter on trial there for heterodox opinions. His sermons 
published weekly, had a v/ide circulation. 



220 J. R. GREEN 

one of a description of a lady, "Rather pretty, but her 
clothes seem to have been made for somebody else and 
then worn on a night journey!" Feminine Germans 
abound at the hotels; there is an English parson's wife 
of an aristocratic turn, and the young wife of an Ameri- 
can "meenistir," who seems to do her religion and her 
shopping on the same hard-bargain principle. We have 
nine parsons beside the archbishop, and a chaplain 
who kept us waiting half an hour for the service last 
Sunday and then told us in his sermon, "Christians have 
in every age been known as a waiting people." We 
have a club where young Italy does its biHiards and 
young England its Times, and an engineer and naval 
officer, each equally crippled in his interior, play cribbage 
till dewy eve. We have three English doctors and four 
German ones driven by stress of war from Monaco and 
Mentone, together with a German band. The German 
doctors cluster all day round the map of Paris and vow 
vengeance for the loss of their fees. Of the English 
ones Dr. A. has two patients, his cook and housemaid, 
just to keep his hand in; Dr. B. not being able to find 
a legitimate patient has persuaded a young lady in 
perfect health to take arsenic for the good of her com- 
plexion; and Dr. C. has no patient at all. Their despair 
was converted into wild revolt against heaven yesterday 
by the sudden arrival of five German doctors more. 
Luckily they were discovered to be army doctors, who 
had been captured by Chanzy\ and in defiance of the 

' Antoine Eugene Chanzy, 1823-1883, the French general who 
commanded in 1870 the second army of the Loire in the Franco- 
German War. 



J. R. GREEN 221 

Geneva Convention* sent coolly to the south, and 
huddled by gendarmes over the frontier at Nice. Itahan 
gendarmes (a gorgeous body with cocked hats and toga- 
like cloaks flung over the left shoulder) at once seized 
on them and hurried them off to the Syndic, who not 
knowing what to do with them ordered them off to 
prison. On this Congreve and others protested and 
demanded their release. The Syndic said, "upon his 
word that step had never occurred to him," but com- 
plied; and so the poor fellows were feasted at the cafe, 

and forwarded next morning to their native land 

Nothing is more natural than the feeling you have so 
often expressed to me of your own deficiencies. One 
no sooner grasps the real bigness of the world's work 
than one's own effort seems puny and contemptible. 
Then, again, one comes across minds and tempers so 
infinitely grander and stronger than one's own that 
one shrinks with a false humility from any seeming 
rivalry with them in noble working. And then again 
in the very effort to do anything, however small, one is 
hampered by circumstances at every step till we are 
inclined to throw up the fight in despair. It is just the 
souls that long to do the noblest work that feel most 
their own immeasurable inferiority to it. No people 
tumble about so despairingly in the Slough of Despond. 
Moses felt himself a man of stammering lips; Elijah 
sank under the juniper; Burns went silently, moodily, 

* The Convention of 1864 which adopted the red cross and formu- 
lated rules for the treatment of the sick, wounded, and prisoners in 
time of war. The violation here is, that they were not delivered to 
their own country. 



222 J. R. GREEN 

about his farmwork, longing for the song that never 
came. But it came at last. The thing is, I think, to 
think less of ourselves and what we are to our work, and 
more of our work and what it is to us. The world moves 
along, not merely by the gigantic shoves of its hero- 
workers, but by the aggregate tiny pushes of every 
honest worker whatever. All may give some tiny push 
or other and feel that they are doing something for man- 
kind. "Circumstances" spur as much as they hinder 
us; it is in the struggle day by day with them that we 
gain muscle for the real life fight; and the sense of the 
superiority of others is a joy to those who really work, 
not for themselves but for the good of mankind. What 
they cannot do they rejoice that others can. Respice 
finerriy the old monks used to say in their meditations 
on life — "consider the end." And so it must be. To 
work well we must look to the end; not death, but the 
good of mankind; not self-improvement in itself, but 
simply as a means to the improvement of the race. Don't 
think this too big an end to look to — one must look 
greatly forward to the great. In the light of it, one sees 
how the very patience of a thwarted day may be one's 

"work" to the end 

Yours ever, 

J. R. Green. 



JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 223 



JOHN HENRY NEWMAN TO REV. 
JOHN HAYES* 

The Oratory, Birmingham: April 13, 1869. 

My dear Sir, — I saw the article you speak of in the 
*' Times", and felt flattered by the passage which re- 
ferred to myself. 

The writer must have alluded in the sentence which 
leads to your question, to my "Lectures and Essays 
on University Subjects," which is at present out of print. 
In that volume there are several papers on English 
and Latin composition. 

It is simply the fact that I have been obliged to take 
great pains with everything I have written, and I 
often write chapters over and over again, besides innu- 
merable corrections and interlinear additions. I am 
not stating this as a merit, only that some persons write 
their best first, and I very seldom do. Those who are 
good speakers may be supposed to be able to write off 
what they want to say. I, who am not a good speaker, 
have to correct laboriously what I put on paper. 
I have heard that Archbishop Howley^ who was an 
elegant writer, betrayed the labour by which he became 
so by his mode of speaking, which was most painful 

* Reprinted from Letters and Correspondence of John Henry Newman 
during his Life in the English Church, 1891, by permission of Long- 
mans, Green, and Company, New York. 

^William Howley, Archbishop of Canterbury, 1828-1848. 



224 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 

to hear from his hesitations and alterations — that is, 
he was correcting his composition as he went along. 

However, I may truly say that I never have been in 
the practice since I was a boy of attempting to write 
well, or to form an elegant style. I think I never have 
written for writing sake; but my one and single desire 
and aim has been to do what is so difficult — viz. to ex- 
press clearly and exactly my meaning; this has been 
the motive principle of all my corrections and re-writ- 
ings. When I have read over a passage which I had 
written a few days before, I have found it so obscure 
to myself that I have either put it altogether aside or 
fiercely corrected it; but I don't get any better for prac- 
tice. I am as much obliged to correct and re-write as 
I was thirty years ago. 

As to patterns for imitation, the only master of style 
I have ever had (which is strange considering the differ- 
ences in the languages) is Cicero. I think I owe a great 
deal to him, and as far as I know to no one else. His 
great mastery of Latin is shown especially in his clear- 
ness. 

Very faithfully yours, 

John H. Newman. 

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI TO DANTE 
ROSSETTI 

(London, April, 1870.) 

.... It is impossible to go on singing out-loud to 
one's one-stringed lyre. It is not in me, and therefore 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 225 

it will never come out of me, to turn to politics or phil- 
anthropy with Mrs. Browning: such many-sidedness 
I leave to a greater than I, and, having said my say, 
may well sit silent. "Give me the withered leaves I 
choose" may include the dog-eared leaves of one's first, 
last, and only book. If ever the fire rekindles avail- 
ably tanto meglto per me: at the worst, I suppose a few 
posthumous groans may be found amongst my remains. 
Here is a great discovery, "Women are not Men," and 
you must not expect me to possess a tithe of your capaci- 
ties, though I humbly — or proudly — lay claim to family 
likeness. All this is for you, not for Mr. Stillman^ for 

whom however are all our cordial regards 

A human being wanting to set one of my things to 
music has at last not fixed on "When I am dead," but 
on Grown and Flown. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TO DR. 
FORDYCE BARKER* 

Boston, February 27, 1 87 1. 

My dear Dr. Barker, — I have got both your kind 
letters, and my mind is at ease about what I am to 
do when I arrive at New York. Country folks are so 
bewildered, you know! 

^ W. J. Stillman was the editor of an American art review, The 
Crayon. 

* This and the following letters are reprinted from Life and Letters 
of Oliver Wendell Holmes, 1896, by permission of Houghton Mifflin 
Company, Boston, holders of the copyright. 



226 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

My plan is to start on Wednesday morning, as I 
told you, and to return on Saturday, if you will keep 
me so long. 

If your son comes to the station, please tell him to 
look about until he sets his eyes on the most anxious, 
inquisitive, puzzled-looking passenger of the whole 
crew, very likely seated on the end of a valise (contain- 
ing a manuscript and a change or two of linen), or hang- 
ing on to a carpet-bag, and rolling his eyes about in all 
directions to find the one who is finding him. Five feet 
five (not four as some have pretended) in height. Not 
so far from the grand cHmacteric as he was ten years 
ago. If there is any question about his identity, a slight 
scar on his left arm .... will at once satisfy the young 
gentleman. On being recognized, I shall rush into his 
arms, and attend him any whither in perfect confidence. 



OLIVER V^ENDELL HOLMES TO JAMES 
RUSSELL LOWELL 

Beverly Farms, September 22, 1878. 

My dear James, — Love me, love my — poems is not the 
way in which it is generally put. Love my poems, love 
you, would come nearer the truth. It did me good to get 
those pleasant words about my Atlantic verses, which I 
read, by the way, at the B K dinner, of which society 
they chose me President. So you see I have the honor of 
being your successor. I feel oldish for such places. 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 227 

but I think, generally speaking, the higher the place one 
holds, the more work others do for him, so that logic- 
ally the supreme position in the universe would be one 
of absolute repose. Sixty-eight quotha! I shall never 
couple these two figures again after my name — sixty- 
nine, by'r Lady — and so few good old men left! When 
a man says to himself, I am now in my seventieth year — 
still more when he writes it, as I do now, he feels as if he 
were talking about somebody else, or reading in the 
obituary column of a newspaper, or scraping the moss 
from an old gravestone and spelling it out; but the idea 
that he is himself the subject of the malady called three- 
score years and ten, — or like soon to be — the age at 
which King David (the brother poet, I mean) was ad- 
vertising for a dry-nurse — 

I leave that sentence unfinished, expressly, inten- 
tionally, for what can I say to match the absurdity of 
the thought which presents itself as a fact and sounds 
so like a lie! — Ah well; age is well enough — but just 
now — 

I almost blush to write with so very little beyond 
the changes from the blue bed to the brown to tell you. 
Next Monday — the 30th, that is — we expect to return 
to Boston, having passed a delightful but exceedingly 

quiet summer here at Beverly Farms We are 

at a small wayside house, where we make ourselves 
comfortable, my wife, my daughter, and myself, with 
books, walks, drives, and as much laziness as we can 
bring ourselves to, which is quite too little, for none of 
us has a real genius for the far niente. All round us 



228 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 

are the most beautiful and expensive residences, some 
close to the sea beaches, some on heights farther back 
in the midst of the woods, some perched on the edge of 
precipices; one has a net spread out which she calls 
a baby-catcher, over the abyss, on the verge of which 
her piazza hangs shuddering. We go to most of these 
fine places once during the season. We see the fine 
equipages roll by (the constable does not take off his 
hat), and we carry as contented faces as most of them 
do 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES TO JAMES 
T. FIELDS 

21 Charles Street, July 6, 8.33 a. m. 
Barometer at 30 i-io. 

My dear Friend and Neighbor: Your most un- 
expected gift which is not a mere token of remem- 
brance, but a permanently valuable present, is making 
me happier every moment I look at it. It is so pleasant 
to be thought of by our friends when they have so 
much to draw their thoughts away from us; it is so 
pleasant, too, to find that they have cared enough 
about us to study our special tastes, — that you can see 
why your beautiful gift has a growing charm for me. 
Only Mrs. Holmes thinks it ought to be in the parlor 
among the things for show, and I think it ought to be 
in the study, where I can look at it at least once an hour 
every day of my life. 

I have observed some extraordinary movements of 



OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 229 

the index of the barometer during the discussions that 
ensued, which you may be interested to see my notes 
of:— 

Barometer. 
Mrs. H. 

My dear, we shall of course keep this beautiful barometer 
in the parlor. Fair. 

Dr. H. 

Why, no, my dear; the study is the place. Dry. 

Mrs. H. 

I'm sure it ought to go in the parlor. It's too hand- 
some for your old den. Change. 
Dr.H. 

I shall keep it in the study. Very dry. 

Mrs. H. 

I don't think that's fair. Rain. 

Dr. H. 

I'm sorry. Can't help it. Very dry. 

Mrs. H. 

It's — too — too — ba-a-ad. Much rain. 

Dr. H. 

(Music omitted.) 

Mid pleas-ures and paaal-a-a-c-es. Set Fair. 

Mrs. H. 

I will have it! You horrid — Stormy. 

You see what a wonderful instrument this is that 
you have given me. But, my dear Mr. Fields, while 
I watch its changes it will be a constant memorial of 
unchanging friendship; and while the dark hand of 
fate is traversing the whole range of mortal vicissitudes, 
the golden index of the kind affections shall stand al- 
ways at SET FAIR. 



230 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 



R. L. S. TO MRS. THOMAS 
STEVENSON* 

Mentone, January 7, 1 874. 

My dear Mother, — I received yesterday two most 
charming letters — the nicest I have had since I left — 
December 26th and January ist: this morning I got 
January 3rd. 

Into the bargain with Marie, the American girl, who 
is grace itself, and comes leaping and dancing simply 
like a wave — like nothing else, and who yesterday was 
Queen out of the Epiphany cake and chose Robinet 
(the French painter) as her favori with the most pretty 
confusion possible — into the bargain with Marie, we 
have two little Russian girls, with the youngest of whom, 
a little polyglot button of a three-year-old,! had the most 
laughable little scene at lunch to-day. I was watching 
her being fed with great amusement, her face being as 
broad as it is long, and her mouth capable of unlimited 
extension; when suddenly, her eye catching mine, the 
fashion of her countenance was changed, and regard- 
ing me with a really admirable appearance of offended 
dignity, she said something in Italian which made every- 
body laugh much. It was explained to me that she had 
said I was very polisson^ to stare at her. After this she 

* This and the following letters are from Letters of Robert Louis 
Stevenson, copyright, 1899, by Charles Scribner's Sons. 
1 Blackguard, ragamuffin. 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 231 

was somewhat taken up with me, and after some ex- 
amination she announced emphatically to the whole 
table, in German, that I was a M'ddchen; which word 
she repeated v^^ith shrill emphasis, as though fearing 
that her proposition would be called in question — 
M'ddchen, Mddchen, Madchen, Madchen. This hasty 
conclusion as to my sex she was led afterwards to revise, 
I am informed; but her new opinion (which seems to 
have been something nearer the truth) was announced 
in a third language quite unknown to me, and probably 
Russian. To complete the scroll of her accomplish- 
ments, she was brought round the table after the meal 
was over, and said good-bye to me in very commend- 
able English. 

The weather I shall say nothing about, as I am in- 
capable of explaining my sentiments upon that subject 
before a lady. But my health is really greatly improved: 
I begin to recognise myself occasionally now and again, 
not without satisfaction. 

Please remember me very kindly to Professor Swan; 
I wish I had a story to send him; but story. Lord bless 
you, I have none to tell, sir, unless it is the foregoing 
adventure of the little polyglot. The best of that de- 
pends on the significance o^ polisson, which is beautifully 
out of place. 

Saturday, loth January. — The little Russian kid 
is only two and a half: she speaks six languages. She 
and her sister (aet. 8) and May Johnstone (aet. 8) are 
the delight of my life. Last night I saw them all dan- 
cing — O it was jolly; kids are what is the matter with me. 
After the dancing, we all — that is, the two Russian ladies, 



232 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

Robinet the French painter, Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone, 
two governesses, and fitful kids joining us at intervals — 
played a game of the stool of repentance in the Gallic 
idiom. 

O — I have not told you that Colvin is gone; how^ever, 
he is coming back again; he has left clothes in pav^^n 
to me. — 

Ever your affectionate son, 

Robert Louis Stevenson. 



R. L. S. TO W. E. HENLEY 

Braemar, August^ 1 88 1. 

My dear Henley, — Of course I am a rogue. Why, 
Lord, it's knov^n, man; but you should remember I 
have had a horrid cold. Now I'm better, I think; 
and see here — nobody, not you, nor Lang, nor the 
devil, will hurry me with our crawlers. They are 
coming. Four of them are as good as done, and the 
rest will come when ripe; but I am now on another 
lay for the moment, purely owing to Lloyd, this one; 
but I believe there's more coin in it than in any amount 
of crawlers: now, see here, "The Sea-Cook, or Treasure 
Island: A Story for Boys." 

If this don't fetch the kids, why, they have gone rotten 
since my day. Will you be surprised to learn that 
it is about Buccaneers, that it begins in the Admiral Ben- 
bow public-house on Devon coast, that it's all about a 
map, and a treasure, and a mutiny, and a derelict ship, 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 233 

and a current; and a fine old Squire Trelawney (the real 
Tre, purged of literature and sin, to suit the infant mind), 
and a doctor, and another doctor, and a sea-cook with 
one leg, and a sea-song with the chorus, "Yo-ho-ho and a 
bottle of rum" (at the third Ho you heave at the capstan 
bars), which is a real buccaneer's song, only known to 
the crew of the late Captain Flint (died of rum at Key 
West, much regretted, friends will please accept this 
intimation); and lastly, would you be surprised to hear, 
in this connection, the name of Routledge? That's the 
kind of man I am, blast your eyes. Two chapters are 
written, and have been tried on Lloyd with great success; 
the trouble is to work it off without oaths. Buccaneers 
without oaths — bricks without straw. But youth and 
the fond parent have to be consulted. 

And now look here — this is next day — and three 
chapters are written and read. (Chapter i. The Old 
Seadog at the Admiral Benhow. Chapter ii. Black 
Dog appears and disappears. Chapter iii. The 
Black Spot.) All now heard by Lloyd, F., and my 
father and mother, with high approval. It's quite 
silly and horrid fun, and what I want is the best book 
about the Buccaneers that can be had — the latter B's 
above all, Blackbeard and sich, and get Nutt or Bain to 
send it skimming by the fastest post. And now I know 
you'll write to me for "The Sea-Cook's" sake. 

Your ** Admiral Guinea" is curiously near my line, 
but of course I'm fooling; and your Admiral sounds like 
a shubhme gent. Stick to him like wax — he'll do. 
My Trelawney is, as I indicate, several thousand sea- 
miles off the lie of the original of your Admiral Guinea; 



234 ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 

and besides, I have no more about him yet but one 
mention of his name, and I think it Hkely he may turn 
yet farther from the model in the course of handhng. 
A chapter a day I mean to do; they are short; and 
perhaps in a month "The Sea-Cook" may to Routledge 
go, yo-ho-ho and a bottle of rum! My Trelawney has a 
strong dash of Landor, as I see him from here. No 
women in the story, Lloyd's orders; and who so blithe 
to obey ? It's awful fun boys' stories; you just indulge 
the pleasure of your heart, that's all; no trouble, no 
strain. The only stiff thing is to get it ended — that I 
don't see, but I look to a volcano. O sweet, O generous, 
O human toils! You would like my blind beggar in 
Chapter iii., I believe; no writing, just drive along as 
the words come and the pen will scratch! 

R. L. S. 
Author of Boys' Stories. 



R. L. S. TO MR. H. C. IDE 

(Vailima, June 19, 1891.) 

Dear Mr. Ide, — Herewith please find the document, 
which I trust will prove sufficient in law. It seems to 
me very attractive in its eclecticism; Scots, English, and 
Roman law phrases are all indifferently introduced, and 
a quotation from the works of Haynes Bailey can hardly 
fail to attract the indulgence of the Bench. — 

Yours very truly, 
Robert Louis Stevenson. 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 235 

I, Robert Louis Stevenson, Advocate of the Scots Bar, 
author of the Master of Ballantrae and Moral Emhlems, 
stuck civil engineer, sole owner and patentee of the 
Palace and Plantation known as Vailima in the island of 
Upolu, Samoa, a British Subject, being in sound mind, 
and pretty well, I thank you, in body: 

In consideration that Miss Annie H. Ide, daughter of 
H. C. Ide, in the town of St. Johnsbury, in the county 
of Caledonia, in the state of Vermont, United States of 
Ameritia, was born, out of all reason, upon Christmas 
Day, and is therefore out of all justice denied the con- 
solation and profit of a proper birthday; 

And considering that I, the said Robert Louis Steven- 
son, have attained an age when O, we never mention it, 
and that I have now no further use for a birthday of any 
description; 

And in consideration that I have met H. C. Ide, the 
father of the said Annie H. Ide, and found him about 
as white a land commissioner as I require: 

Have transferred, and do hereby transfer, to the said 
Annie H. Ide, all and whole my rights and privileges in 
the thirteenth day of November, formerly my birthday, 
now, hereby, and henceforth, the birthday of the said 
Annie H. Ide, to have, hold, exercise, and enjoy the same 
in the customary manner, by the sporting of fine raiment, 
eating of rich meats, and receipt of gifts, compliments, 
and copies of verse, according to the manner of our 
ancestors; 

And I direct the said Annie H. Ide to add to the said 
name of Annie H. Ide the name Louisa — at least in 
private; and I charge her to use my said birthday with 



236 JOHN RUSKIN 

moderation and humanity, et tamquam bona filia familta, 
the said birthday not being so young as it once was, and 
having carried me in a very satisfactory manner since I 
can remember; 

And in case the said Annie H. Ide shall neglect or 
contravene either of the above conditions, I hereby 
revoke the donation and transfer my rights in the said 
birthday to the President of the United States of America 
for the time being: 

In witness whereof I have hereto set my hand and 
seal this nineteenth day of June in the year of grace 
eighteen hundred and ninety-one. 

[Seal] 
Robert Louis Stevenson. 

Witness, Lloyd Osbourne, 
Witness, Harold Watts. 



JOHN RUSKIN TO MISS SUSAN 
BEEVER 



Assisi, 14th April, 1874. 

I got to-day your lovely letter of the 6th, but I never 
knew my Susie could be such a naughty little girl before; 
to burn her pretty story instead of sending it to me; It 
would have come to me so exactly in the right place here, 
where St. Francis made the grasshopper (cicada, at 
least) sing to him upon his hand, and preached to the 



JOHN RUSKIN 237 

birds, and made the wolf go its rounds every day as 
regularly as any Franciscan friar, to ask for a little con- 
tribution to its modest dinner. The Bee and Narcissus* 
would have delighted to talk in this enchanted air. 

Yes, that is really very pretty of Dr. John to inscribe 
your books so, and it's so like him. How these kind 
people understand things! And that bit of his about 
the child is wholly lovely; I am so glad you copied it. 

I often think of you, and of Coniston and Brantwood. 
You will see, in the May Fors,^ reflections upon the 
temptations to the Hfe of a Franciscan. 

There are two monks here, one the sacristan who has 
charge of the entire church, and is responsible for its 
treasures; the other exercising what authority is left 
to the convent among the people of the town. They 
are both so good and innocent and sweet, one can't 
pity them enough. For this time in Italy is just like 
the Reformation in Scotland, with only the difference 
that the Reform movement is carried on here simply for 
the sake of what money can be got by Church confisca- 
tion. And these two brothers are living by indulgence, 
as the Abbot in the Monastery of St. Mary's in the 
Regent Moray's time. 

The people of the village, however, are all true to 
their faith; it is only the governing body which is modern- 
infidel and radical. The population is quite charming 
— a word of kindness makes them as bright as if you 

'The name of the story referred to above. 

^In 1 87 1 Ruskin began to write Fors Clavigera, Letters to Workmen 
and Labourers of Great Britain. This was published monthly in 
pamphlet form. 



238 JOHN RUSKIN 

brought them news of a friend. All the same, it does 
not do to offend them; Monsieur Cavalcasella, who is 
expecting the Government order to take the Tabernacle 
from the Sanctuary of St. Francis/ cannot, it is said, 
go out at night with safety. He decamped the day 
before I came, having some notion, I fancy, that I 
would make his life a burden to him, if he didn't, by 
day, as much as it was in peril by night. I promise 
myself a month of very happy time here (happy for me, 
I mean) when I return in May. 

The sacristan gives me my coffee for lunch, in his 
own little cell, looking out on the olive Vv'oods; then he 
tells me stories of conversions and miracles, and then per- 
haps we go into the sacristy and have a reverent little 
poke out of relics. Fancy a great carved cupboard in 
a vaulted chamber full of most precious things (the box 
which the Holy Virgin's veil used to be kept in, to begin 
with), and leave to rummage in it at will! Things that 
are only shown twice in the year or so, with fumigation! 
all the congregation on their knees; and the sacristan 
and I having a great heap of them on the table at once, 
like a dinner service! I really looked with great respect 
at St. Francis's old camel-hair dress. 

I am obliged to go to Rome tomorrow, however, and 
to Naples on Saturday. My witch of Sicily^ expects 
me this day week, and she's going to take me such lovely 
drives, and talks of "excursions" which I see by the 

^ The convent of St. Francis was suppressed by the ItaHan govern- 
ment in 1866, but a few monks were allowed to remain as long as they 
lived. The buildings are now used for a boys' school. 

^Miss Amy Yule. 



JOHN RUSKIN 239 

map are thirty miles away. I wonder if she thinks me 
so horribly old that it's quite proper. It will be very 
nice if she does, but not flattering. I know her mother 
can't go with her, I suppose her maid will. If she wants 
any other chaperone I won't go. 

• She's really very beautiful, I believe, to some people's 
tastes (I shall be horribly disappointed if she isn't, 
in her own dark style), and she writes, next to Susie, 
the loveliest letters I ever get. 

Now, Susie, mind, you're to be a very good child while 
I'm away, and never to burn any more stories; and 
above all, you're to write me just what comes into your 
head, and ever to believe me your loving 

J. R. 

JOHN RUSKIN TO MISS SUSAN 
BEEVER 

Florence, ist September. 

Don't be in despair about your book.^ I am sure it 
will be lovely. I'll see to it the moment I get home, but 
I've got into an entirely unexpected piece of business 
here, the interpretation of a large chapel full of mis- 
understood, or not at all understood, frescoes^; and 
I'm terribly afraid of breaking down, so much drawing 
has to be done at the same time. It has stranded botany 
and everything. 

^Miss Beever was making an edition of selections from his Modern 
Painters, the Frondes Agrestes. 

^ See his Mornings in Florence. 



240 JOHN RUSKIN 

I was kept awake half of last night by drunken black- 
guards howling on the bridge of the Holy Trinity in the 
pure half-moonlight. This is the kind of discord I 
have to bear, corresponding to your uncongenial com- 
pany. But, alas! Susie, you ought at ten years old to 
have more firmness, and to resolve that you won't he 
bored. I think I shall try to enforce it in you as a very 
solemn duty not to lie to people as the vulgar public do. 
If they bore you, say so, and they'll go away. That is 
the right state of things. 

How am I to know that I don't bore you, when / 
come, when you're so civil to people you hate ? 

JOHN RUSKIN TO DR. CHAPMAN 

Rome, 26th May, 1874. 

My dear Sir: I have your obliging letter, but am com- 
pelled by increase of work to cease lecturing except at 
Oxford — and practically there also — for, indeed, I find 
the desire of audiences to be audiences only becoming an 
entirely pestilent character of the age. Everybody wants 
to hear- — nobody to read — nobody to think; to be excited 
for an hour — and, if possible, amused; to get the knowl- 
edge it has cost a man half his life to gather, first sweet- 
ened up to make it palatable, and then kneaded into the 
smallest possible pills — and to swallow it homoeopathi- 
cally and to be wise — this is the passionate desire and 
hope of the multitude of the day. 

It is not to be done. A living comment quietly given 
to a class on a book they are earnestly reading — this kind 



JOHN RUSKIN 241 

of lecture is eternally necessary and wholesome; your 
modern fire-working, smooth-downy-curry-and-straw- 
berry-ice-and-milk-punch-altogether lecture is an en- 
tirely pestilent and abominable vanity; and the misera- 
ble death of poor Dickens, when he might have been 
writing blessed books till he was eighty, but for the 
pestiferous demand of the mob, is a very solemn warning 
to us all, if we would take it. 

God willing, I will go on writing, and as well as I can. 
There are three volumes published of my Oxford lec- 
tures, in which every sentence is set down as carefully 
as may be. If people want to learn from me, let them 
read them or my monthly letter **Fors Clavigera." If 
they don't care for these, I don't care to talk to them. 
Truly yours, 

J. RUSKIN. 



JOHN RUSKIN TO MISS SUSAN 
BEEVER 

27th November, 1886. 

For once, I have a birthday stone for you, a little worth 
your having, and a little gladsome to me in the giving. 
It is blue like the air that you were born into, and al- 
ways live in. It is as deep as gentians, and has their 
gleams of green ,in it, and it is precious all through 
within and without, as Susie herself is. Many and 
many returns of all the birthdays that have gone away, 
and crowds yet of those that never were here before. 



242 SIDNEY LANIER 

JOHN RUSKIN TO MISS SUSAN 
BEEVER 

Here, not I, but a thing with a dozen of colds in its 
head, am! 

I caught one cold on Wednesday last, another on Thurs- 
day, two on Friday, four on Saturday, and one at every 
station between this and Ingleborough on Monday. 
I never was in such ignoble misery of cold. I've no 
cough to speak of, nor anything worse than usual in the 
way of sneezing, but my hands are cold, my pulse no- 
where, my nose tickles and wrings me, my ears sing — 
like kettles, my mouth has no taste, my heart no hope 
of ever being good for anything, any more. I never 
passed such a wretched morning by my own fireside in 
all my days, and I've quite a fiendish pleasure in telling 
you all this, and thinking how miserable you'll be too. 
Oh, me, if I ever get to feel like myself again, won't I 
take care of myself. 

SIDNEY LANIER TO MRS. PEACOCK* 

Brunswick, Ga., April i8, 1875. 

My dear Mrs. Peacock: Such a three days' dolce far 
niente as I'm having! With a plenty of love, — ^wife's, 
bairns', and brother's — and no end of trees and vines, 

* This and the following letter are from Letters of Sidney Lanier, 
copyright, 1899, ^7 Mary Day Lanier; published by Charles Scribner's 
Sons. 



SIDNEY LANIER 243 

what more should a work-battered man desire,, in this 
divine atmosphere which seems Hke a great sigh of pleas- 
ure from some immense Lotos in the vague South ? The 
little house, by one of whose windows I am writing, 
stands in one corner of an open square which is 
surrounded by an unbroken forest of oaks, of all 
manner of clambering and twining things, and of pines, 
— not the dark, gloomy pines of the Pennsylvania 
mountains, but tall masses of vivid emerald all in a 
ghtter with the more brilliant green of the young buds 
and cones; the sun is shining with a hazy and absent- 
minded face, as if he were thinking of some quite other 
star than this poor earth; occasionally a little wind comes 
along, not warm, but unspeakably bland, bringing 
strange scents rather of leaves than of flowers; the mock- 
ing-birds are all singing, but singing sotto voce^ and a 
distant cock crows as if he didn't mean to crow, but only 
to yawn luxuriously; and old mauma over in the neigh- 
borhood is singing, as she sets about her washing in 
her deliberate way, — persistently rejecting all the semi- 
tones of the D minor in which she is singing (as I have 
observed all the barbaric music does, as far as it can), 
and substituting the stronger Ci for the C#; and now 
my little four-year-old comes in from feeding the pony 
and the goat, and writhes into my lap, and inquires with 
great interest, "Papa, can you whistle backwards?" 
by which I find, after a puzzled inquiry, that he means 
to ask if I can whistle by drawing my breath m, instead 
of forcing it outy — an art in which he proceeds to in- 
struct me with a great show of superiority: and now he 
leaves, and the whole world is still again, except the 



244 SIDNEY LANIER 

bird's lazy song and old mauma's monotonous crooning. 

I am convinced that God meant this land for people 
to rest in, — not to work in. If we were so constituted 
that life could be an idyll, then this were the place of 
places for it; but being, as it is, the hottest of all battles, 
a man might as well expect to plan a campaign in a 
dream as to make anything like his best fight here. . . . 

Pray write me how Miss Cushman* seemed on the 
morning after the reading. She was so exhausted when I 
helped her from the carriage that I fear her strength 
must have been severely taxed. My address for a month 
hence will be at Jacksonville, Fla.: I leave for that place 
on Wednesday (day after to-morrow), and shall make 
it headquarters during all my ramblings round the 
flowery State. 

These lonesome journies — which are the necessities 
of my unsettled existence — make me doubly grateful 
for the delightful recollections which form my compan- 
ions along the tiresome miles, and for which I am in- 
debted to you. Believe, dear Mrs. Peacock, that they 
are always with me, and that I am always your and 
Mr. Peacock's 

Sincere friend, 

Sidney Lanier. 



* Charlotte Cushman, 1816-1876, an American actress and reader 
who did much to elevate acting as a profession. 



SIDNEY LANIER 245 



SIDNEY LANIER TO MR. GIBSON 
PEACOCK 

33 Denmead St., Baltimore, Md., 

January 6, 1878. 

.... Maria's cards were duly distributed, and we 
were all touched with her charming little remembrances. 
With how much pleasure do I look forward to the time 
when I may kiss her hand in my own house! We are 
in a state of supreme content with our new home: it 
really seems to me as incredible that myriads of people 
have been living in their own homes heretofore as to the 
young couple with a first baby it seems impossible that 
a great many other couples have had similar prodigies. 
It is simply too delightful. Good heavens, how I wish 
that the whole world had a Home! 

I confess I am a little nervous about the gas-bills, 
which must come in, in the course of time; and there 
are the water-rates, and several sorts of imposts and 
taxes: but then, the dignity of being liable for such 
things! is a v-ery supporting consideration. No man is a 
Bohemian who has to pay water-rates and a street-tax. 
Every day when I sit down in my dining-room — my 
dining-room! — I find the wish growing stronger that each 
poor soul in Baltimore, whether saint or sinner, could 
come and dine, with me. How I would carve out the 
merry-thoughts for the old hags! How I would stuff 
the big wall-eyed rascals till their rags ripped again! 



246 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 

There was a knight of old times who built the dining- 
hall of his castle across the highway, so that every way- 
farer must perforce pass through: there the traveller, 
rich or poor, found always a trencher and wherewithal 
to fill it. Three times a day, in my own chair at my own 
table, do I envy that knight and wish that I might do 
as he did. 

Send me some word of you two. I was in Phila- 
delphia for a part of the night since I saw you, being 
on my way to Germantown to see Mr. Kirk. I had 
to make the whole visit between two rehearsals of the 
Orchestra, and so could only run from train to train 
except between twelve P. M. and six, which I consumed 
in sleeping at the Continental. 

We all send you heartfelt wishes for the New Year. 
May you be as happy as you are dear to your faithful 

S. L. 

THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO 
WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS* 

PoNKAPOG, Mass., Dec. 13, 1875. 

Dear Howells, — We had so charming a visit at your 
house that I have about made up my mind to reside with 
you permanently. I am tired of writing. I would like to 
settle down in just such a comfortable home as yours, 
with a man who can work regularly four or five hours a 

* This and the following letters are reprinted from The Life of 
Thomas Bailey Aldrich, 1908, by permission of Houghton Mffflin 
Company, Boston, holders of the copyright- 



THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 247 

day, thereby relieving one of all painful apprehensions in 
respect to clothes and pocket-money. I am easy to get 
along with. I have few unreasonable wants and never 
complain when they are constantly supplied. I think I 
could depend on you. 

Ever yours, 

T. B. A. 
P. S. I should want to bring my two mothers, my 
two boys (I seem to have everything in twos), my wife, 
and her sister. 



THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO 
G. E. WOODBERRY 

Hotel Royal, Constantinople, 

July 22, 1890. 

Dear Woodberry, — 

Christian, having thrown off his burden and quitted 
"the shop" forever, is walking in the streets of the City 
Beautiful. He unwinds the turban of care from his 
brow and sits down by the fountains of delight. 

.... The bazaars in the early morning, cooling 
drinks and many-colored ices at noon-day, and afternoon 
dreams on the Bosphorus leave his mind smooth for 
his nightly divan. The life and color of the streets, — 
the grand visier riding by on his milk-white mare and 
only just not stepping on the curled-up toes of the pro- 
fessional cripple on the curbstone — the mosques, the 
markets, and the minarets — all this Orient business 
goes straight to the heart of your friend, who will return 



248 THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH 

to his own uncivilized land in October loaded to the 
muzzle with magazine papers of the most delightful 
novelty at the very highest prices. Meanwhile he has 
begged his friend Jacob, the seller of sweet waters, to 
drop this missive into the post across the street in order 
that you may be assured that you still live in the memory 
of 

Your faithful 

Thomas Ben-Aldrich. 



THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH TO 
G. E. WOODBERRY 

Tenant's Harbor, Maine, July^ 17, i895- 

Dear Woodberry, — ^When you are disposed to listen 
to what the wild waves are saying to the sympathetic 
crags under my study window, won't you speak up and 
say so ? Your room here, with " magic casement", open- 
ing on the sea, is ready for you toujours. You will find 
it a very drowsy, dreamy place, with such mandragora 
in the air as is not known elsewhere on the coast. I am 
positive that Monhegan, lying off to the southward, is 
the enchanted isle where Prospero and Miranda had 
their summer cottage in the old days. 

It is simply impossible to do any work at The Crags. 
Since my return home I have done nothing but read — 
all sorts of books, Pepys's Diary, Social Evolution, the 
recollections of Sonya Kovalevsky, things in French 
and Spanish, and God knows what all 



LEWIS CARROLL 249 

When you come, don't wear anything but your old 
clothes, for we do not dine here. One must be prepared 
at any instant to He down on the rocks, or roll in the 
bayberry, or get red paint all over him 

I might have written all this to you in Japanese, but 
perhaps that would have seemed a bit pedantic, since 
you don't understand the language, you poor ignorant 
critter! 

Mrs. Aldrich sends warm regards to you, and is won- 
dering whether you like lobsters and Russian fish-pies. 
Ever affectionately yours, 

T. B. A. 



LEWIS CARROLL TO ADELAIDE* 

Christ Church, Oxford, 

March 8, 1880. 
My dear Ada, — 

(Isn't that your short name.? ''Adelaide" is all very 
well, but you see when one is dreadfully busy, one hasn't 
time to write such long words — particularly when it 
takes one half an hour to remember how to spell it — and 
even then one has to go and get a dictionary to see if one 
has spelt it right, and of course the dictionary is in another 
room, at the top of a high bookcase — where it has been 
for months and months, and has got all covered with 
dust — so one has to get a duster first of all, and nearly 
choke oneself in dusting it — and when one has made 

* Reprinted from The Story of Lewis Carroll, by permission of 
E. P. Dutton and Company, New York, holders of the copyright. 



250 LEWIS CARROLL 

out at last which is dictionary and which is dust, even 
then there's the job of remembering which end of the 
alphabet "A" comes — for one feels pretty certain it 
isn't in the middle — then one has to go and wash one's 
hands before turning over the leaves — for they've got 
so thick with dust one hardly knows them by sight — 
and as likely as not, the soap is lost, and the jug is empty, 
and there's no towel, and one has to spend hours and 
hours in finding things — and perhaps after all one has 
to go off to the shop to buy a new cake of soap — so, 
with all this bother, I hope you won't mind my writ- 
ing it short and saying, "My dear Ada.") You said 
in your last letter you would like a likeness of me: so 
here it is, and I hope you will like it — I won't forget 
to call the next time but one I'm in Wallington. 
Your very affectionate friend, 

Lewis Carroll. 

LEWIS CARROLL TO ISA BOWMAN* 

7 LusHiNGTON Road, Eastbourne, 

September 17, 1 893. 

Oh, you naughty, naughty little culprit! If only I 
could fly to Fulham with a handy little stick (ten feet 
long and four inches thick is my favorite size) how I 
would rap your wicked little knuckles. However, 
there isn't much harm done, so I will sentence you to a 

♦Reprinted from The Life and Letters of Lewis Carroll, 1899, by 
permission of The Century Company, New York, holders of the copy- 
right. 



LEWIS CARROLL 251 

very mild punishment — only one year's imprisonment. 
If you'll just tell the Fulham policeman about it, he'll 
manage all the rest for you, and he'll fit you with a nice 
pair of handcuffs, and lock you up in a nice cozy dark cell, 
and feed you on nice dry bread, and delicious cold water. 

But how badly you do spell your words! I was so 
puzzled about the "Sacks full of love and baskets full 
of kisses." But at last I made out why, of course, 
you meant "a sack full of gloves, and a basket full of 
kittens!" Then I understood what you were sending 
me. And just then Mrs. Dyer came to tell me a large 
sack and a basket had come. There was such a miaw- 
ing in the house, as if all the cats in Eastbourne had come 
to see me! *'Oh, just open them, please, Mrs. Dyer, 
and count the things in them!" 

So in a few minutes Mrs. Dyer came and said, "500 
pairs of gWes in the sack and 250 kittens in the basket." 

"Dear me! That makes 1000 gloves! Four times 
as many gloves as kittens! It's very kind of Maggie, 
but why did she send so many gloves ? For I haven't 
got 1000 hands, you know, Mrs. Dyer." 

And Mrs. Dyer said, "No, indeed, you're 998 hands 
short of that!" 

However the next day I made out what to do, and I 
took the basket with me and walked off to the parish 
school — the girl's school, you know — and I said to the 
mistress, "How many little girls are there at school 
to-day?" 

"Exactly 250, sir." 

"And have they all been very good all day ?" 

"As good as gold, sir." 



252 LEWIS CARROLL 

So I waited outside the door with my basket, and as 
each little girl came out, I just popped a soft little kitten 
into her hands! Oh, what joy there was! The little 
girls went all dancing home, nursing their kittens, and 
the whole air was full of purring! Then, the next morn- 
ing, I went to the school, before it opened, to ask the 
little girls how the kittens had behaved in the night. 
And they all arrived sobbing and crying, and their faces 
and hands were all covered with scratches, and they had 
the kittens wrapped up in their pinafores to keep them 
from scratching any more. And they sobbed out, 
"The kittens have been scratching us all night, all the 
night." 

So then I said to myself, "What a nice little girl Maggie 
is. Now I see why she sent all those gloves, and why 
there are four times as many gloves as kittens!" and I 
said loud to the little girls, "Never mind, my dear 
children, do your lessons very nicely, and don't cry any 
more, and when school is over, you'll find me at the door, 
and you shall see what you shall see!" 

So, in the evening, when the little girls came running 
out, with the kittens still wrapped up in their pinafores, 
there was I, at the door, with a big sack! And, as each 
little girl came out, I just popped into her hand two pairs 
of gloves! And each little girl unrolled her pinafore 
and took out an angry little kitten, spitting and snarling, 
with its claws sticking out like a hedgehog. But it 
hadn't time to scratch, for, in one moment, it found all its 
four claws popped into nice soft warm gloves! And then 
the kittens got quite sweet-tempered and gentle, and 
began purring again! 



LEWIS CARROLL 253 

So the little girls went dancing home again, and the 
next morning they came dancing back to school. The 
scratches were all healed, and they told me "The kittens 
have been good ! " And, when any kitten wants to catch 
a mouse, it just takes o^ one of its gloves; and if it wants 
to catch two mice, it takes ofF^u;o gloves; and if it wants 
to catch three mice, it takes ofF three gloves; and if it 
wants to catch four mice, it takes off all its gloves. But 
the moment they have caught the mice, they pop their 
gloves on again, because they know we can't love them 
without their gloves. For^ you see "gloves" have got 
"love" inside them — there's none outside! 

So all the little girls said, "Please thank Maggie, and 
we send her 250 loves and 1000 kisses in return for her 
250 kittens and her 1000 loves!!*' And I told them in 
the wrong order! and they said they hadn't. 
Your loving old Uncle, 

C. L. D. 

Love and kisses to Nellie and Emsie. 



DELIGHTFUL ANTHOLOGIES 

POEMS FOR TRAVELERS 

Compiled by M, R. J. DuBois. $1.50 net, cloth; $2.50 net, leather. 
Covers France, Germany, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, and Greece. 

THE POETIC NEW-WORLD 

Compiled by Miss L. H. Humphrey. 

'•An admirable collection of poems describing the scenery and 
historic associations of America." — San Fraticisco Argonaut. 

THE POETIC OLD-WORLD 

Compiled by Miss L. H. Humphrey. 

Covers Europe, including Spain, Belgium, and the British Isles, 
in some two hundred poems. 

THE GARLAND OF CHILDHOOD 

A little book for all lovers of Children. Compiled by Percy Withers. 
A collection of poetry about children for grown-ups to read. 

THE OPEN ROAD 

A little book for wayfarers. Compiled by E. V. Lucas. 

Some 125 poems from over 60 authors, including Fitzgerald, Shel- 
ley, Shakespeare, Kenneth Grahame, Stevenson, Whitman, Browning, 
Keats, Wordsworth, Matthew Arnold, Tennyson, William Barnes, 
Herrick, Whittier, ete. 

THE FRIENDLY TOWN 

A little book for the urbane. Compiled by E. V. Lucas. 

Over 200 selections in verse and prose from 100 authors, including 
Lowell, Burroughs, Perrick, Thackeray, Scott, Milton, Cowley, 
Browning, Stevenson, Keats, Swift, Meredith, Lamb, Lang, Kemble, 
Boswell and Lovelace. 

These five books are uniform, with full gilt flexible covers and 
pictured cover linings. i6mo. Each, cloth, $1.50 net: leather, $2.50 
net. 



A BOOK OF VERSES FOR CHILDREN 

Compiled by E. V. Lucas. With decorations by F. D. Bedford. 
Revised edition. $2.00. Library edition, $1.00 «^^. 

"We know of no other anthology for children so complete and well 
arranged." — Critic. 

HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS NEW YORK 



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Treatment Date: Jan. 2009 

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